


Silent Strangers

by 75cookies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Comfort, Complete, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Gore, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 78,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/75cookies/pseuds/75cookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being forcefully removed from Camelot, Merlin returns several years later a very different person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Merlin?" it’s a cautious whisper- loud enough to be heard and yet soft enough to not wake the other knights, all of whom were rolled up in their capes like giant red worms and spread around the fire in a perfect octagon.

Merlin briefly wondered if sleeping arrangements were covered in basic training.

"Merlin? That you?"

And he had almost made a clean escape of it...

It was Gwaine, propped up on one elbow with his cape draped almost artistically around his shoulders, who had spoken up. Merlin, though he could not see his face for the darkness, recognized the outline of his scraggly hair by the blood-red dregs of the fire. Ironically enough, Gwaine had a reputation for being the heaviest sleeper of the lot, though he did always seem to have a sort of talent for keeping one eye firmly on Merlin during these types of trips.

Damn him and his caring.

"Err, yeah. It's me." he called back with his own cautious whisper.

"What are you doing?" By the weakened light of the fire Merlin watched his arm rise and fall lazily in replacement of a vertical shrug.

"Just...just off to pee." he gestured oh so innocently behind him into the forest with a grin, ever the clown, away from the warm, quiet campsite.

Gwaine grunted, apparently appeased, and flopped back down, wriggling slightly to find the most comfortable position he could while lying on a bed of dirt and grass.

Turning to walk away from the steady lull of warmth and towards the chilling autumn air, he tugged his handkerchief higher up on his neck and breathed into it, burrowing his nose deep into the pocket of hot air. Hopefully with any luck he would be able to return to the fire, and to sleep, before too long.

Seven of Camelot's finest plus their fearless prince (and his ever-present man-servant) had been dispatched quickly when scouts discovered a group of bandits attempting to exit the land. Loaded down with the kingdom's stolen goods that they intended to pawn off, the group had been easy to catch up to; but after two full days of travel, Arthur bid his tired men rest, planning an ambush for early the following morning.

Merlin didn't usually do things like this.

Well, disobey orders, yeah...

…but take on the land’s most dangerous criminals all by himself in the dead of night? Not usually.

But he had his own reasons: as usual, he knew something that Arthur did not.

The scouts had not known the significance of what they saw, but Gaius had. As soon as he heard the men describe their findings in the throne room, he knew the real dangers they -or rather, just Merlin- was up against. The knights described the men they had seen in great detail. One particular description – a tall man with cropped silver hair, white stubble powering his face like snow, and steadier hands than a man at that age should have that clutched a cane he clearly did not need for walking purposes – stirred a deep recollection in Gaius.

It just so happened that this particular man was the leader of these bandits and, as usual with the goings-on in Camelot, there was more to him than met the eye. He was a powerful sorcerer called Gregor the inventor, and he indeed lived up to his title, for he was the creator of magic’s most recent, and often times darkest, potions. So powerful was his magic and so cynical was his soul that he had taken great precautions in order to preserve and protect his life. He placed several potent and complex enchantments on his own body to ensure that he could not be defeated by any non-magical being, poison, or blade.

Gaius promptly warned Merlin that he must go with the knights in order to protect Arthur- not that it was particularly challenging to get included in the party. Nowadays Merlin was practically expected on missions of this kind. Who else was Arthur willing to trust to cook all the meals and clean all the pots? Besides, none of the Knights could handle being the butt of every. Single. Joke. Not like Merlin, anyway. In fact, getting permission from Arthur proved to be the easiest part of the whole affair for when Merlin had asked him he’d simply scoffed “Course. I thought that was obvious. You don’t to get to laze around all week while I’m off defending Camelot, _Mer_ lin.”

But either way, it’s not like Gaius had to persuade Merlin to protect Arthur. Merlin would have protected him even if it wasn’t his destiny, even if it wasn’t written down in history or in the stars or wherever the hell these things are written down. Arthur, whom Merlin had loved since he’d known he was gay- or perhaps even before. He’d do anything for him.

At the very beginning he’d had nothing but annoyance for the prince’s pomp, arrogance and alarmingly short temper. But as time went by he couldn’t pretend not to notice the way he truly cared not only for his people and his land, but also for those beneath him, those others neglected- the servants and cooks. He was fair and just and kind. He had such an extraordinary responsibility pressing down on his shoulders; it was incredible that it didn’t sink him right down into the ground under his feet, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He smiled and joked right along with the rest of his men while at the same time keeping a firm grip on their respect and loyalty. They would willingly follow him to the gates of hell itself. He was a true leader, and Merlin had not a single doubt that he would guide Camelot into brighter days and times of peace.

And there was no point in ignoring his –ahem- numerous physical aspects. The sweeping blonde hair, smooth skin and perfectly defined muscles...it was enough to make anyone go weak at the knees. This, unfortunately, created quite a few embarrassing moments for a blushing Merlin, seeing as he helped the man undress every day. Not that Arthur ever actually noticed. He was way too preoccupied with Gwen, and that was good. Merlin loved Gwen dearly, and she was a good fit for both Arthur and Camelot. Merlin didn’t allow himself to be deluded into any sort of romantic fantasy involving himself and the prince, not even for a second (as hard as it was). He knew his place and he was happy to stay in it: right by Arthur's side… right where he was needed… up until he wasn’t anymore.

But he was plenty needed at the moment. As usual, it was up to Merlin to defeat the bad guy and save Camelot; just another day as servant to the Prince.

Make breakfast. Check.

Clean armor. Check

Muck out stables. Check.

Polish boots. Check.

Singlehandedly defeat bandits.

Save Camelot.

Make dinner.

Of course, Merlin didn’t have to defeat _all_ of the bandits, a thought that anyone else might find alarming, but he found rather comforting.  All he had to do was sneak to the edge of the camp and take out one man- a quiet, preemptive strike that would leave the rest of the men leaderless and chaotic. Easy in, easy out. He’d be back to bed within the hour. Not only would it be a piece of cake for him, but tomorrow morning the rest of the criminals would be easy pickings for the knights.

Finding and tracking their trail was easier than Merlin had dared to hope, even in the darkness. Crushed plants, broken branches, and marks on trees all lined a wide trail made by a lavishly large wagon; the deviants had supposedly traded stealth for speed. When Merlin had first stepped foot in Camelot he had known nothing about this sort of thing, but the frequent hunting trips with Arthur had proved to be less useless than he originally thought. They had taught him more than he had realized.

But it was more than that. Merlin would have been able to follow this trail had he been blind. Even though he was still several kilometers away, he could feel the tug of powerful magic like a hook attached to his shirt, gently pulling him in the right direction.

He did not know that this connection went both ways.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough it lead him to a good-sized clearing, on the outskirts of which he knelt beneath the cover of some low lying trees, a respectable distance from their set-up. He rubbed his stiff fingers together and scrutinized their camp. He could see several small tents as well as the wagon he had suspected of barreling through the woods, probably stuffed to bursting with valuables. Though, in actuality, it was even bigger than he had originally expected. Hooked up to a line of six horses it was like a huge wooden box on wheels and looked big enough to fit maybe nine adults in relative comfort.

There were no men around, all having presumably gone to bed. There remained only two guards sitting outside one of the bigger tents.

Excellent.

A smile spread across his face like warm butter.

He loved it when things were made easy for him.

With a quick spell and a quicker rock they both slumped over, unconscious. It left his path to the tent, and to Gregor, blissfully clear.

He settled more comfortably in his little nook next to the tree, breathing in the brusque air. A little good fortune and he could work all the magic he needed from right where he crouched.

He should have expected it. It was just too easy.

He reached down within himself, fingertips just brushing comfortingly against the swirling, golden magic. He raised his hand and drew a deep breath, incantation on the tip of his tongue when _wham!_

 Something hit him sharply in the back of the head.

The world went black.

\--

The tallest man nudged the boy with the toe of his boot, digging it into his cheek and turning his head so they could all get a good view of his face.

“N’ he’s really magic, then?” he spoke gruffly after letting the boy’s cheek fall limply back to touch the forest floor.

“S’what Gregor says,” another replies.

A humorless chuckle. “Looks like he finally gets ta use one o’ does fancy collars he’s been boasting ‘bout.”

“Think ‘e’s alone?”

“A scrawny boy like ‘im? Wondering around in the woods alone in the dead o’ night? Nah, there’s bound to be a group of ‘em not far off.”

“Do’ya remember ‘em imperial scouts we saw the other day? Think ‘e’s with ‘em?”

“Do you see a Knight’s amour on ‘im, idiot?”

“’E could have taken it off, _idiot!_ ”

“Enough! You ‘n you!” presumably the highest ranked of the group, a stout but muscular man with beady eyes and a permanent scowl on his face pointed to two other lackeys “get his hands ‘n feet. You!” he pointed again “Go fetch Gregor. ‘N you!” he pointed a third time “go warn the rest of the men; we’re moving out in an hour.”

\--

When Merlin awoke it was to darkness, uncomfortable heat, and rhythmic swaying. He was lying on his back on hard wood. When he tried to sit up, his head banged painfully into what felt like another head, and he was roughly shoved backwards by a set of clanking hands.

Ohhh, his head… it had already been throbbing _before_ he had slammed it into someone else. It felt as if it had been clubbed with a log.

Actually, looking back, he thought, that probably is exactly what happened.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled without conviction, wincing at the pain, as he waited for a reply that never came.

Blinking furiously, he tried to raise his neck enough to see what was around him, only to feel something thick and heavy encircling his throat and sitting upon his jugular.

What? A collar? He laid his head back down, but brought his hands up to inspect it. And it was only then that he realized his hands were shackled together with thick cuffs around his wrists.

The confusing fog of ambush and sleep around his brain scattered instantly as real heart-pumping adrenaline-fueled panic rushed in to replace it.

He scrambled to a sitting position (ignoring a groan and another half-hearted shove) and squinted, trying frantically to see his surroundings.

But he could already hear just fine- the clopping of several horses, the ominous swing of many chains, and by the time he could see it only confirmed what he desperately hoped he was wrong about.

He swallowed despite his dry, parched throat as, slowly, the black-on-black shapes began to develop outlines…human outlines.

It was hot and cramped, but Merlin shivered. Feverish skin and sharp elbows pressed in on him from all sides, but Merlin’s insides were caked with ice. There was a sickening smell of sweat, urine, and greasy, unwashed bodies.

Merlin felt sick.

He had been right about the wagon…it could fit about nine men in relative comfort…

…or about twenty if they crammed.

The precious goods these men were hauling, the ones they meant to sell…

These men weren’t just bandits…they were slave traders.

_Excellent._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are typos... I was impatient to post. :(

He had not felt panic before. Not like this.

Writing, burning, snakes of fire filled his stomach. He was desperate, on edge, burning to move, to escape, to, fuck, do _something._ His beating heart pumped not blood but burning acid through his body. Every second was a year. Every moment he sat there, doing nothing he spiraled deeper and deeper into despair and fear, and

 _Panic._ Panic like he’d never experienced before.

It wasn’t because he was shackled and chained. It wasn’t because he was forcefully condensed into a space that by all rights should only fit half of him, and carted off in a distinct not-Camelot direction. And it wasn’t because he was friendless and sword-less and shield-less.

It was because he was magic-less.

He was only an adequate swordsman, and he had gotten by without too many friends for the majority of his short life so far. He was independent and very used to taking care of his own problems. He didn’t rely on those things, and their absents did not bother him…unlike his magic.

He felt like a small child all over again: stuck in a problem too big for him to deal with by himself. Though, childhood problems didn’t tend to be life or death.

And unlike a child there were no parents, or anyone, for that matter, that he could turn to for help.

He was quite clearly and quite firmly stuck.

Both literally and figuratively, as he quickly discovered, because  it that was pretty hard to move in his current physical position. He was crowded into a corner of the wagon, the top of his back and neck resting on the stiff wood where one wall greeted the other. The door- firmly shut and latched was on his right. His legs, tented high at the knee, lay out in front of him, hands chained together and resting obediently on his curled stomach.

There was someone’s calf lodged firmly in the gap between his knees and the floor, and though he couldn’t actually see it, every once in a while a desperately large foot connected with his side as its owner tried to stretch out in their close knit quarters, so he knew it was always hovering nearby. At first these things bothered him greatly, as they were a source of tremendous annoyance, but after a few hours it just became normal. So what if there was a full grown man pressed so tightly to his side that Merlin was practically kissing his cheek every time he turned his head? Nobody was comfortable, and he took up just as much room as everyone else.

Despite all the outward distractions, he was much more concerned with what was going on _inside_ his body. He had made exactly two-hundred and four attempts to reach his magic…

…none of them successfully.

But it wasn’t like he had too much else to do. They had traveling for two solid days and their captors hadn’t exactly provided any entertainment.

That is, unless you counted watching your fellow passengers by the day-light that managed to squeeze its way through the cracks in the wood-slats.  If you were lucky you could maybe see someone defecate in their grimy pants, or maybe watch one of the smaller ones cry themselves to sleep, clinging desperately to their parents –If they were fortunate enough to have one along.

Merlin did not find this entertaining. Instead, he found it quite motivational.

_These people need me._

He let his eyes close and tried to block out all sounds.

He ignored the shuffle of bodies, and the rustle of captivity. He ignored the rumbling stomachs of the hungry and the steady clip clopping of hooves that every moment brought them further from home.

 _These people_ need _me._

He breathed in deeply, and cleared his mind (much easier said than done in current situation). He dove down into his own body, searching for that heart-frenzying trill of power, the comforting and familiar warmth of his own abilities, of what he _knew_ he was capable.

He’d just never had to try so _hard_ before. Magic had always come to him so easily, like breathing or blinking. He just did it, it just… worked. He’d been able to move things with his mind before he could even speak and now…

Now when he desperately needed it, when he concentrated and pushed and strained with _everything,_ everything he had, everything he could give…

Bam. He was stopped. He couldn’t go any further. It was very much akin to walking at full speed into a glass door. He could _feel_ his magic like warm, magnificent sunlight on the other side of the glass, he _knew_ it was there.  He could _see_ its brilliant golden glow… but he couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t reach it.

He pressed himself against the glass. He tried to go through it. He tried to break it- throwing a fabulous inner tantrum that any two year old would be proud of, balling his fists with the extent of his mental efforts. When neither of those methods worked, he tried going around the proverbial glass, over, under, to the side, only to find that it extended indefinitely in all directions.

And he tried again, and again, and again and again, until he thought he would go stark raving mad from effort and strain. He was mentally exhausted. It was like spending two solid days on a single maths problem, one that apparently had no answer but was crucial to solve.

His head pounded. His heart pounded. His blood pounded.

He’d never felt so completely useless. So expendable. He’d always been able to pull though, to solve any problem, to conquer any evil for the benefit of others. But not now.

He was looking into a tunnel, and he could see no light.

_These people need me._

_Arthur needs me._

And quite frankly, at the moment, he wouldn’t have said no to a bit of help from Arthur.

It was extremely frustrating, suddenly not being able to do something that always came so naturally. Like having a stubborn itch that wouldn’t scratch, or being told over by your teacher that two and two was, and always had been, five.  It was like attempting to lift your arm with all your strength and not being able to and not understanding _why._

Except of course, Merlin knew why.

It was that damned collar.

He had had ample time to examine it thoroughly with his shackled hands, though due to its location it was physically impossible to see it with his own eyes without the aid of a mirror.

It was solid and heavy and covered all around in runes, none of which Merlin recognized, but it was so difficult to tell just by feeling the engravings with his fingers. 

What’s more was that he had felt along every inch of the metal and had felt no clasp, seal, fastening, weld or anything of any sort to indicated how it had gotten there. It was completely smooth 360 degrees around. It was like it had just slithered as a great metal snake onto his neck of its own accord and seamlessly attached itself to its own tail. It was like someone had removed his head, stuck the circular piece on his neck and reattached his head. There was no physical way it could have conceivably been put there, and any half-hearted attempts to remove it were fruitless.

It stunk of magic.

It hadn’t exactly been a difficult leap. Magic collar, magic boy… evil sorcerer, unusable magic.

Between futile and exhausting attempts to lift an amputated limb, Merlin tried to talk to the other prisoners, but made, if it was possible, less progress there than he did with his magic. None of them responded- one older woman went even so far as to shush him violently, one finger pressed tightly to wrinkled lips.

At least he knew _why_ he couldn’t use his magic. He had no idea why these people were so determined to cooperate quietly as they were pulled away from their lives.

He soon found his answer… but afterward he rather wished he hadn’t.

It was one of the smaller ones, Merlin could see him not far from where he sat, bearing a dirt-caked face clean only where tears had left pale streaks.

Clinging to his mother’s equally dirty frock, he couldn’t have been a day over nine.

 “Shhh, now hush,” her voice was soft and loving, her hand soothing on the boy’s matted hair, but it was her eyes that gave her away. They darted towards the wooden door in quick bursts like she was waiting for it to burst into flames.

The others soon began to turn and stare, unforgiving; like this was some sort of hallowed library they were disturbing. Merlin looked away instead. _Let the boy cry_ , he thought. 

He couldn’t blame him- it was as if his wails spoke for the same pain inside him. He hadn’t eaten since he’d dinner round the campfire two days ago- who knows when this poor boy’s last meal had been. His cramped muscles burned like they were sizzling on coals, an unquenchable fire – the ache to stretch was thick and palpable. It was hot and humid. It was smelly and uncomfortable. He was tired and scared and tired of feeling scared. He had no idea where he was going, no idea what was going to happen and no idea how he was going to get back to Camelot.

And if his mother had been there, he’d have clung to her too.

“Hush up, boy!” a tall and subsequently very contorted and grouchy man with heavy stubble and gnarled hands who was nearer the boy snarled and grabbed at his leg, shaking it furiously like a father about to administer punishment.

“You leave him be!” the mother snarled back in an equally frightening voice, as the wails escalated. She snatched her child closer to herself like she could absorb him right into her chest.

The whole wagon halted so suddenly that Merlin’s head banged backwards into the wall at the force of it.

There was the thick sound of metal scraping on metal, the clicking of a large lock. Those closest to the door pressed backwards, away in frigid anticipation. Then there was the great bang of wood, and suddenly the darkened room was filled with a brilliant light.

Merlin didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust and they stung with pain as he watched the scene unfold, like he was staring directly into the sun itself. But He was so glad to see light that he didn’t care.

He didn’t even notice the figure standing in the doorway, not till it spoke.

It was a stout muscular man with a shaggy brown beard; obscuring the full passage of light through the door. One hand was on the doorway, the other holding a cruel looking whip.

There was complete silence- even the boy was quiet, having stuffed his own fist in his mouth to muffle the sobs.

“…Who’s making all the noise?” it was a deathly quiet question, the way a dog growls deep in its throat before lunging.

Nobody answered.

“What’s that, then? Nobody?” he gave his whip wrist a little reflexive twist “Weren’t so quiet in here a minute ago, was it?”

“No, it weren’t,” a voice behind him answered, though the man it belonged to was hidden from view.

The man looked back at his comrade and nodded in agreement “it’s right funny, is what it is,” he said, beginning to stroke his bushy facial hair with one hand while a wheezing laugh bubbling up from the back of his throat “Coz you know how the boss likes his silence.”

Well he would have been glad at the moment, because nobody so much as breathed. Merlin doubted their heartbeat’s even made noise.

“Well then,” he said, shaking his head sadly “if nobody’s gonna fess up….I guess we’re gonna have to make an example.” His hand shot forward as he grabbed hold of someone’s unfortunate arm.

Immediately the shrieking started as he dragged her backwards.

It was an old woman, the one who had shushed Merlin earlier.  Her grey hair wisped about her face delicately as she clawed at the air, desperately trying to burrow back into the mass of hot bodies in the wagon.

Her arm was just a bone with wrinkled and blotched skin stretched around it. She looked like she could barely survive the journey, let alone a whipping.

“No, no please!” her voice was not as weak as her body as she begged for mercy

The very same boy began to cry again, though silently now.

His mother’s eyes were sad, yet bright, and firm. Merlin could easily read her intentions on her face. If she had to sacrifice this stranger to save her son, then she would. She would not go in her place, not while she had a boy to protect. He was her top priority and if others had to die so he could live, so be it.

And nobody else seemed very eager to volunteer. 

“No,” he hardly recognized his own voice. It was like a rusty hinge, weak from non-use. He cleared it and his next words came strong and loud and unmistakably, almost foolishly bold.

“It wasn’t her,” he said, straining to see the man around a bent elbow that partially blocked his view of the door “it was me,” he volunteered “I…I was crying.”

The man’s head swiveled slowly to glare at him, one eyebrow raised as the old women’s loud wails dissolved into small whimpers.

“You?” his disbelief was evident.

Merlin glared back, his chin raised in defiance, eyes set and fists clenched.

He was pulled forcefully from the wagon- the others shrunk back easily, and nobody said a word as he passed.

\--

***Four Years Later***

**King Arthur leaned forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers. He was so exhausted. He’d barely hit the pillows last night before George, his faithful manservant, was in to wake him. And it had been like this all week long. He’d gotten maybe ten hours of sleep combined in the past two weeks.**

**“Victory is supposed to be easier,” he muttered under his breath as he held back another yawn with sheer force of will.**

**A step behind him and off to the right, Leon chuckled.**

**“The worst of it is over, my liege. Just a few more loose ends, then we can finally put this war with Morgana behind us.**

**“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put it behind me,” he sighed heavily and dragged one hand across his worn face “I’d just settle for some sleep at this point.”**

**Leon gave another chuckle “And you’ll have it.”**

**The doors to the throne room opened slightly, enough for a head to emerge- Percy’s head, to be exact. Arthur looked up and smiled when he saw the familiar face. “Percy,” he said gratefully “ _Please_ tell me you have good news.” **

**“Some,” he inclined his head as his body filled the doorway “Jarin and his patrol has finally arrived. They bring the last of the war prisoners from the western sector. It’s completely cleaned out now.”**

**Arthur straightened up in his throne and double checked to make sure his crown sat properly on his head. He’d been King for over a year and half now but it still seemed new and daunting at times- like when enemy soldiers who hated your guts, along with the most important military leader, who also hated your guts, were all brought in before you.**

**“Excellent. Bring them in.”**

**Percy propped the heavy doors open, then stood to the side, hands clasped in front of him.**

**They didn’t have to wait long.**

**Jarin came in first, brown hair wind-blown, but face glowing with pride. He knelt before his king with a dramatic sweep of his hand.**

**“My Liege,”**

**The corner of Arthur’s lips twitched slightly as he bowed his head in greeting “Sir Jarin.”**

**He was one of the newer soldiers, knighted just this past year, but even so he had proved invaluable during the last few months of the war. He was leading his own squadrons while his peers were still in training.**

**But he was still very young and therefore very eager to prove himself. Sometimes this resulted in rather rash or harsh decisions that the older, more experienced knights would not have made. Even so, he showed an enormous amount of potential and Arthur had no doubt he would grow to be one of the finest knights in Camelot’s history.**

**Jarin stood up and stepped off to the side “these,” he said, turning toward the door expectantly, “are the last of the enemy soldier from the west.”**

**And then they filed in, one by one.**

**Not only were their hands cuffed in thick iron, they were also connected to their bound feet. Each man was chained both to the one in front and behind him, forming a morose line. As they shuffled in, head’s bowed and eyes downcast their jangling manacles made a sort of horrible, eerie melody.**

**Arthur, no longer sleepy, tried with every fiber of his being to project the perfect picture of the fearsome, stately king they no doubt saw him as.**

**Arthur took a deep breath as they lined up, horizontally, in front of his seat. Though his façade was calm, he was rather anxious inside. Deciding the fate of these men – of all the enemy men for that matter – was not a task he enjoyed.**

**Sometimes being king could be a royal pain.**

**“No doubt you are very concerned about what your fate will be today,” he filled the silent room with an authoritative and regal voice as he eyed the first man in line on his left. His hair was dark and short; his hunched shoulder and drooping limps screamed of exhaustion. His black uniform had once held the gleaming white tree as a symbol of his allegiance to morgana, but now it was barely recognizable for the mud that covered his body.**

**“I assure you,” he continued “that I am as well. This unfortunate war has been the cause of much spilt blood, too much blood.”**

**His eyes slid onto the second man. He was in very much the same condition; only his hair was scraggly, unkempt and blonde, gathered in a long ponytail at the base of the neck.**

**“If I can help it,” his eyes continued onto the next man, who in turn was looking down at his beaten and worn shoes “We can avoid any more death.”**

**The third man in line was different. For one thing, he was the only one not wearing the knight’s uniform. He was instead in baggy gray pants, and back shirt with a deep V-neck. His black hair fell in curls about his stuck-out ears. Rather familiar stuck out ears…**

**“And if we can…work together…” Arthur slid down a bit lower in his seat, and strained his neck at an oddly low angle, trying to get a good look at the man’s face. Behind him Leon made a stifled noise and to his left Jarin stared in open confusion, but Arthur took no notice.**

**“We can avoi….. _Merlin!”_ He shot out of his throne at the time the man looked up and he saw immediately that he had been right. This was Merlin! He was older and his hair was much longer. He was tired and dirty and clearly a little more rough around the edges but…**

**But he was _alive._**

**“Merlin!” Arthur, eyes wide in shock, stumbled forward, hands shaking as their eyes met.**

**It was Leon’s turn to stare, but this time in awe.**

**“Merlin!” Arthur was out of breath when he finally stood in front of him, hands grasping his thin shoulders “I…I thought…you…We all thought you were _dead!_ I-I don’t –how…? I don’t believe this!” a surprised smile, the likes of which had not been seen for four years, graced his lips.**

**Merlin remained silent, eyes humbly downcast. The only indications that he had even heard the king was the fact that he was biting down hard on his lip and his blue eyes began to pool with clear tears.**

**Jarin, a small chuckle in his voice, stepped forward. “Sire,” he said, trying too hard to keep his voice light, his arms held out from his sides in confusion “you- there must be some mistake. This man was found in the first lieutenant’s tent itself! Surely you don’t-“**

**Arthur hushed him with a wave of his hand. His eyes searched for Merlin’s and when he wouldn’t return his gaze, Arthur lifted his chin with gentle, gentle fingers.**

**There was complete silence.**

**And then Arthur – the once and future king himself – was _embracing_ this shackled and filthy man while the other inhabitants of the room – knight and prisoner alike- watched in disbelief.**

**Merlin was completely stiff, completely unmoving, and completely foreign.**

**When Arthur pulled back, his wondrous face held tear tracks identical to Merlin’s.**

**“Well- it- it is you, Merlin, isn’t it?” he asked, a slightly desperate edge coming into his voice.**

**Merlin nodded, a puff of restless air and an almost inaudible whimper escaping through his lips, his eyes still having trouble staying on Arthur’s.**

**“I-“ he shook his head, still not believing what he was seeing “Say something!”**

**And when Merlin remained quiet…**

**…”Merlin, please,” he exclaimed grin slipping just the slightest bit.**

**So Merlin raised his chin and opened his mouth.**

**And kept it that way.**

**At first Arthur’s shocked brain couldn’t process what was going on, what he was supposed to be looking at exactly, why Merlin’s mouth was wide open yet he said nothing.**

**And then he saw it.**

**Attached to the bottom of Merlin’s mouth was a red and angry looking little stump.**

**His tongue had been cut out.**

\--

Merlin would have been grateful for the stretch of his limbs had he not been so completely terrified. Liquid panic seemed to fill his body and drown him from the inside out. He felt the blood rush though his veins, heartbeat by heartbeat. He had an overwhelming urge to _run._

But a thick rope was already looped around his cuffs, the other end held by a guard who was grinning, knotting the rope and gazing up at the branches overhead. Merlin watched as he threw the knot up and it swung directly over a thick branch. One swift tug and his arms were yanked up over his head, practically out of their sockets.

Though he was faced toward the woods he could hear movement behind him, footsteps as the men approached, eager for a show.

There was a loud rip and a rush of cool air on his skin as the back of his shirt was ripped open, collar to hem. For a moment Merlin felt a burning fury.

His shirt! This was the only thing he owned in the entire world at the moment – apart from his pants and his neckerchief. They didn’t have to go and rip it…

But he didn’t have too much time to mourn the loss of his clothing because just then he heard a hush go over the men gathered behind him and he knew that it was about to begin.

One.

Even though Merlin had braced both his body and his mind, there was no way he could have fully prepared himself for this pain. Reflexively, his hips shot forward and his back arched in, anything to get away from the pain, like lightning across his back, leaving his skin burnt and black. Eyes widening, he sucked in cold air though hollowed cheeks- such a stark difference from the fire on his back. He didn’t have time to fully recover from the blow before-

Two.

He didn’t want to give them any satisfaction, but it was so hard to stay silent. A breathy cry fell through his lips. The pain was exquisite, as if someone had pressed a white-hot poker to his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, squeezed his fists closed, and ground his teeth down on his tongue. Blood filled his mouth, salty and metallic.

Three.

Looking back, he doesn’t remember his knees giving out, just that all of a sudden his wrists were under a great pressure and he looked down to see his knees slack. The toes of his shoes anchored him to the ground and the branch above him held his weight.

Four.

Even though his tongue lay firmly between his teeth, like a rabbit caught in a trap, he grunted when the whip bit through him. The blood spewed from his mouth in tendrils. He could feel an obstinate drop clinging warmly to his chin. He let his head hang down. He breathed heavily, in and out quickly though puckered lips, cheeks puffing out and caving in with each breath. It helped some.

Five.

It was now that he was able to recover enough from the initial shock of pain that the sounds of the world swam through the muddy air around him and finally got to his ears. The men were watching and laughing. He heard a few of them make girlishly high-pitched squeals and it took a moment before his brain caught up and he realized that they were imitating –

Six.

Merlin wasn’t sure which was cracking, him or the whip. Even the air that touched his back was too much. Even the oxygen that pressed against his skin caused a hot, sharp, pain, like a knife being twisted. 

Seven.

It was a monster. Great and terrible, its silver talons dug mercilessly into Merlin’s tissue delicate skin and ripped it to shreds. Warm blood washed over his back, baptizing him into this new life of sharp pain and bitter hate.

Eight.

He was so weak. So useless. He couldn’t handle it as he thought he could. He wanted it to end.

_Please…let it stop…_

Nine.

Stars burst at in his line of vision, winking at him like his only friends in the world. The edges of his vision went dark and black. He could feel nothing but the fire of coals on his back. Every nerve in his body was concentrated on this impossible pain.

Ten.

And then it was over, and Merlin was gasping for air like he’d just learned to breathe. His lungs and throat were parched and dry and filled with hot sand. His back was ablaze – the skin felt ripped and ragged and throbbing. Even the slightest movement of the fingers shot pain coursing through his body, directly to his back.

So he stayed motionless.

The men around him guffawed stupidly a few moments more, but the taunts soon melted away, just as the pain in his back also melted down to a simmer, a throbbing dull ache that was subdued so long as he stayed statue still.

So Merlin concentrated on the forest floor.

Soon cool fingers were at his neck, plucking at the neckerchief there and tugging at its knot. It released its hold around his neck and fell away in another’s grasp.

But then it was back again.

He had thought the pain was over – it was so unexpected and so potent that he couldn’t help the sudden, strangled moan of agony that burst from him.

Neck snapping up, his hips once again twisted away, causing new tremors of pain.

There was a withered old chuckle “Yes… It’s something, isn’t it, boy?”

The coarse fabric raked over his ruined skin.

He let his head fall forward, a dull whimper shook from trembling lips. His eyes were drooped and still fixed on the ground. 

The blood was being scrubbed from his back, his wounds being cleaned. He might have actually mistaken this as an act of kindness if it weren’t for the words he heard next.

“Take this,” The voice was quiet, old, and yet somehow deathly.

There was a small noise of exchange.

“My, Lord?” this was a new, young voice. Uncertain, but eager to please, yet Merlin didn’t miss the fear that lay under it, flavoring it like fat to meat.

“Place it… far away- east of here, between Camelot and Dartmoor. Then meet up with us at the south peak, after the drop off.”

“My Lord.”

There were footsteps as the man retreated.

“That’ll keep those pesky Camelot soldiers off our trail, now won’t it, Emrys?”

He’d never felt quite so alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! sorry that this took me so long! Ten million and twelve thanks goes to Aseptic (from ff.net), my wonderful wonderful beta who literally slaved away over this.

Enjoy!

* * *

'As slavery goes,' Merlin decided after a week in his new home, 'it could be worse.'

'Could be worse' he yawned to himself while contemplating the taste of early morning on his tongue as he rose along with the rest of the men.

'Could be worse,' he reminded himself as breakfast disappeared in two mouthfuls.

'Could be worse,' he panted to himself as his sweaty, blistered hands raised the heavy pickax again and again and again.

'Could be worse,' he muttered to himself through a dinner that he quickly learned to not examine before pushing it down his eager throat.

'Could be worse,' he sighed to himself as he flopped back onto his mat, winced, and then rolled onto his stomach.

After all, there were worse things in life than scarce food, back-breaking work and monotonous routines. Hell, he'd even been given a new shirt.

Routine.

That was certainly the word to sum up his new life.

At least he could count on each day being the same as the last. If there was one thing he hated it was surprises. It was no wonder, too, because in Camelot, "Merlin I have a surprise for you..." really meant "Merlin I have an exhaustingly long list of chores for you spend your day doing..." and that was on a good day. Bad surprises went more along the lines of "Merlin, Arthur's the assassination target of several very irate ogres- surprise! You have twenty-four hours to save him." He counted it a blessing to be able to wake up in the morning knowing exactly how strong he was going to have to be to make it through the day.

Besides, he knew there couldn't be too many more of them- he was just biding his time here. There was not a doubt in his mind that Arthur was looking for him. The fake trail might have thrown him off a little, but Arthur was the best huntsman in Camelot. Knowing that each day might potentially be his last gave Merlin the strength to get by.

Each day, the men rose as soon as the sun's rays tickled the sky- sometimes before. While both men and women all slept together in the same, long, wooden hut, the women were always still asleep when the men headed out. Hugging their frail limbs around frailer bodies, they curled up into themselves, lying on identical threadbare mats that disguised the hardness of the floor, but did little to lessen it.

The center of the room held a pathetically small pile of wood and a single grated fire, around which all of the mats were feverishly clustered. But unless you were laying next to the glowing flames it did little in the way of providing warmth, and the shoddy wooden walls hardly stopped the autumn wind that all too often cut through the hut.

As they stepped from from the chill of inside the hut to the fresh, biting cold of the outside, each man was handed a pick ax and roll of bread. The bread always disappeared quickly – not only to curb the desire of empty stomachs but also so that frozen boney fingers could be stuffed into sleeves or under armpits; anywhere they could find a bit of warmth.  
But the cold didn't bother them so much. A few moments of work would warm them up soon enough, and then the chill was sorely missed.

A squad of sleep deprived, sour-looking guards then walked them along a memorized and well-worn path. One behind the other they lugged their bodies and pickaxes through rocky wastelands under the guards' watchful and sadistic eyes. Together they formed a slow and twisting caterpillar, and watched as their own hot breath rose above them and hung in in the air as steaming cotton puffs.

After sleepy feet fumbling over four miles of rocks it came to Merlin's least favorite part of every day.

It was time to say goodbye to the sun.

Merlin always closed his eyes when he did it. Somehow the separation didn't seem so bad if he did it on his own terms. He tilted his head up a bit so that he could feel the light warm his face. And if he couldn't… at least with his eyes closed he could imagine that he did.

Then there was a rough shove behind him, because he had stopped moving to have a few more seconds in the sun, forcing him to stumble that inevitable step forward. He let the cool darkness slip like a hood over his eyes.

And then it was time for work.

-

**A bath.**

**According to Arthur that was first on their list of priorities, after freeing him from the mess of chains that had entangled his frail body like a cocoon.  
Well, almost all of them.**

**The collar still coiled stubbornly around his neck like a gleaming silver snake.**

**It seemed odd and out of place now that Merlin had forgone the rest of his clothing for the luxurious silk bathing robe that had been offered to him by the King of Camelot himself.**

**He stood there, clutching the thing around his otherwise naked body as he watched and listened to the goings-on.**

**Apparently, he'd thrown the castle into quite the uproar.**

**They were in an empty bedroom chamber usually reserved for noble guests. It was only one door down from the King's room itself. Merlin watched as three separate, faceless maids scurried around the room like ants whose nest had been flooded. One was lighting a fire while another snapped soft linens expertly tight around the mattress. The third carried over a stack of towels that were thicker and fluffier than any blankets he'd slept under for the past four years. Merlin sucked on his lower lip and fingered sleeve of the ruby-red silk as the bustling maids brought a wave of nostalgic memories.**

**He himself had lit that same fire and changed those sheets a million times before, heated Arthur's water and laid out warm towels for him to step into.**

**Arthur, who had exchanged his crown and armor for a simple shirt and pants, was currently arguing with George.**

**It was weird to think about George waking Arthur up every day, making him breakfast, cleaning his clothes… Merlin had no doubts that George did a good job, but it didn't make him feel any better. He knew things had changed, that the castle hadn't come to a grinding halt without him, but having it all pressed into his chest like this was strangely disheartening.**

**"Sire," George had been reduced to begging now, hands clasped in a plea, eyes chancing a swift glance at Merlin, who in turn glanced away. "It's degrading," He insisted, eyeing the rag that Arthur had clutched firmly in his right hand.**

**"Please, Sire, allow me. I assure you, nothing would bring me greater pleasure…. I will see to his every need, you mustn't worry. I insist. It's not proper… my Lord…"**

**Puffing out his chest dramatically, Arthur looked down his nose at the boy.**

**"If the tub's full, George," he said dismissively, waving his hand toward the door.**

**"Just… the last bit of it…" George indicated the lone jug, steaming peacefully near the fire.**

**"Excellent, thank you, I've got it from here." His tone made it clear that he was speaking to everyone in the room.**

**The three maids scurried cooperatively out the door like mice but George lingered, moving toward the door at a snail's pace, and looking back at the pair of men mournfully.**

**"Sire….please…" he tried one last time "it's indecent… your father would never have allowed-"**

**"That will be all," he enunciated forcefully before slamming the thick oak doors shut with a bang, practically on George's nose.**

**There was an eerie silence. Merlin watched, awkward and unsure, as Arthur came over to pour the last of the water into the small, circular, tub.**

**Arthur's sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms and Merlin couldn't help but notice the muscles thickly padding his arms. While he could not have be described as weak when Merlin had left, he had still been a boy. Now a man stood in front of him, clear by the strength in the movement of his body. Merlin watched as the steam rose into the air, licking sensually at the tanned skin on his forearms.**

**He shook his head to himself.**

**He hadn't even been in Camelot five hours.**

**"Today," Arthur said to him over the splashing of water "It's my turn to be your manservant."**

**There was a playful sort of grin hovering over his lips, one which Merlin did not return.**

**Three days ago he was sucking the first lieutenant's cock.**

**Now the King of Camelot was going to give him a bath.**

**Unbelieveable.**

**-**

Dinner was quickly distributed before the trek home, and even more quickly consumed. When the men stumbled back under a dusky sky, the only thing waiting for them was a barren room and a fire choking on its own ashes. The women were never there upon their return. Merlin did not know where they went or what they were doing, nor did he care much. He had in the beginning, though.

When thoughts of rescue weren't plaguing him, he was sick with curiosity. He'd asked a few of the other less-menacing looking men – the ones without permanent scowls or didn't have a reputation for stealing food from the smaller men, but the responses he got were disappointing at best. The only answers he could glean were vague and unhelpful; variations on "they're working," or "away." The rest of the time his only response was a grunt, even a condescending, "don't worry about it". He couldn't tell if they didn't know, or if it was some sort of secret that a select worthy few had privy to.

But Merlin deemed himself worthy, and the more the answer hid from him the more determined he became to find it. When simply being inquisitive failed to satisfy the burning lack of knowledge that sizzled in his stomach, he took matters into his own hands. Upon coming home one night, instead of groaning, stretching out his arms and jockeying for the best position near the fire like the other men, he'd sat up stubbornly on his mat, arms crossed, face grimaced.

He was determined to stay up until they came back, determined to find out if he had to stay awake all night. His fingernails dug sharply like needles into the skin under armpits, keeping himself uncomfortable and therefore, theoretically, awake. But even sitting up, shivering against the cold and grating his teeth against his lip until he tasted blood, he had fallen asleep in under five minutes. All he had to show for it in the morning was an extra sense of frustration and a fat lip. After that, days of hacking away at rocks for seven consecutive hours turned out to be the perfect cure to his curiosity.

Now it was just a fact of his new life: the women were there when they woke up, gone when they fell asleep.

The work was hard, unrewarding and exhausting. Time chipped away as slowly as the rock under his pick-axe.

Silver.

That's what they were looking for, silver and lead and copper, sleeping away under the blankets of the earth. Or rather, anything that might potentially be one of these precious metals.

Merlin, hardly growing up surrounded by glittering, pretty things had only encountered such jewels after he started dressing Arthur in them. Although he quickly became adept at telling them apart, that was when they were cut, polished and sparkling.

Here, chopping at narrow walls with hardly any light, it was nearly impossible to tell an ordinary rock from a precious one. In the end, he just kept anything with a bit of color in it -tossing it into his collection box.

Luckily, they got fed no matter the amount they collected, however pitiful. No-one ever seemed to score a large haul though, for it seemed the cave was very old, and had already been picked over more than once.

That wasn't to say, however, that his work was for nothing. He began to notice a pattern where a bigger haul meant a slightly larger dinner, and he refused to believe that it was a coincidence.

It was just one of the few rays of light Merlin was able to seek out amidst all the black.

Something else that gave Merlin hope was the number of the prisoners: he estimated that there was one guard for every fifty or so workers.

That meant two eyes to watch one hundred swinging arms, two eyes to keep track of fifty bodies spread out far into the slender and winding passageways of the cave. It almost came without saying that a certain amount of leeway was inevitable. Like others, He could take a few moments while no one was watching to lean against the cold stone and catch his breath. Or he could go to relieve himself and take longer than was necessary, using the stolen time to stretch out sore limbs, examine pussy boils on his palms.

While each guard was armed with a whip and a sword, they were scarcely used. One was likely to get a kick in the shin or a cuff on the back of the head for any number of offences (including the guard simply being in a bad mood) and maybe a single whiplash if you moved too slowly. However, Merlin hadn't been whipped since that day in the wagon and for that he was grateful.

The first few weeks were the worst. After the stomach shrunk to accommodate the smaller meals, and the palms grew thick calluses in response to the axe swinging, and the muscles got used to such daily abuse… it was tolerable, if only because he knew he wasn't going to be here long. It was the only thought that could get him through the day- this situation was very temporary.

Surely, Arthur was looking for him.

Surely, despite that damned fake trail they had laid with his neckerchief, they were on Merlin's trail right now.

They could come at any moment… after all; they'd never failed him before, and Merlin didn't believe they would start now.

Sometimes he stared so hard at the horizon he could see Arthur's sword flashing in the sunlight, and his heart was skip a beat.

They would find him, save him.

Then he could go home and sleep properly and be warm and have real food… it was enough to make his insides curl in anticipation.

But until then…he could wait here.

Well, maybe he could meet them halfway.

Either way, he wasn't going to stay here much longer.

-  
 **Merlin eyed the tub cautiously, as though he was reluctant to get clean.**

**He turned a wary eye to Arthur, but did nothing to break the silence. Arthur stared back, uncomprehending, until Merlin gave a quiet sort of cough behind one hand, the other tugging sheepishly at his newly acquired robe.**

**Arthur blinked once, cheeks gaining a tint of pink. "Oh. Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry. Yes…" and he turned to face the wall, giving Merlin his privacy.**

**Arthur heard a light shift as the silk puddled around Merlin's feet.**

**He'd never admit it was on purpose; but whether by accident or decided curiosity, or maybe even simple concern for a friend, he turned around too soon.**

**Merlin had always been thin, lanky muscles spread over a tall frame.**

**But he had been healthy.**

**He had been strong.**

**What Arthur's eyes graced over now made his stomach fall clear away from his body.**

**As soon as he had seen, he whipped back around, eyes shut tight and heart slamming against his ribs. Shivers traveled down his spine like icy spiders. Like plugging your ears and humming upon hearing bad news, Arthur wanted to pretend he'd never seen it, to forget altogether … but he knew he'd never be able to forget this image. Even now, with his eyes shut tight it was emblazoned clearly in his mind, and suddenly he was torn between the urge to run out of the room and the urge to turn around and have a second look.**

**Merlin had been lowering himself into the tub, one gnarled and thickly calloused hand gripped, white knuckled, on the edge of the tub. Above his wrist a wide, red, bloody bracelet was etched into his very skin as a last goodbye kiss from the shackles that had embraced him. His other hand cradled his torso in a fashion that made Arthur suspect bruised ribs. His entire chest was completely painted, splattered in a vast arrangement of blue, black and sickly yellow like an abstract picture.**

**Still facing the wall while he tried to digest what he'd seen, Arthur heard Merlin groan like a man four times his age, half in pleasure, half in pain, as the water swallowed him whole. Swallowing thickly, Arthur made no move to turn even though he knew Merlin sat fully in the warm water, not until he hear his throat clear pointedly. Then, smile desperately trying to hold a smile, he turned towards the boy in the tub. Merlin's back was to him, and the lace-like bubbles only covered about two-thirds of it.**

**Arthur's smile faltered.**

**Long, thin, reedy scars covered his back like leaves blanket a forest in autumn. Layer over layer, his back was a mess of scar tissue. Pale, white and rigidly swollen above his skin they crisscrossed, weaving a tapestry.**

**It was as if hundreds of willowy roots had burrowed into the once-smooth skin of his back. His flesh pulled tight over them and they stuck out disjointedly like pursed lips.**

**As Arthur approached, he saw the tension fell away from Merlin's limbs, as the threat of vulnerability was overtaken by the luxurious feeling of the hot water against his skin.**   
**To Arthur's credit, he didn't let any of his emotions show.**

**With a deep breath on went his King mask, the one he used when unexpected and uninvited nobles turn up, and Arthur was forced to play happy host.**

**_Why, we are so delighted to have you as guest in my castle! What's that? No, no, you know you're always welcome in Camelot!_ **

**And then he would go and tell the kitchens they needed double the food in half the time.**

**His smile was sewed onto his face with burning thread.**

**Merlin turned his head, now looking over to Arthur, blue eyes wide and inquisitive.**

**A inquisitive cock of Merlin's head and Arthur felt a flush of anxiety, and he wondered if perhaps Merlin caught him staring.**

**But he didn't seem angry, so Arthur mentally steeled himself before he stepped forward and crouched down on his heels near the edge of the tub, near Merlin's shoulder.**

**"It's good to have you back, Merlin," he said, a bit quieter, perhaps, than normal as he took Merlin's arm, lifted it out of the water and –gently, for heaven's sake, gently- began to lather it.**

**Merlin gave a small smile, and craned his neck to the right in order to stare at Arthur.**

**Arthur had a hard time looking back at him.**

**He kept busy with Merlin's arm.**

**"Things are…" he gave a light chuckle "well a bit different, obviously."**

**There was a musical trickle of water as Merlin rose his free hand, and tapped the top his head, one sly eyebrow rising just a bit.**

**Arthur's own eyebrows dipped. "What's that, now? Oh, yeah, well, I guess that is the biggest change isn't it?"**

**He wasn't sure that it was, but put the debate from his head as he stole Merlin's new arm and, keeping it upright, rubbed soap from wrist to armpit.**

**"It happened about…eighteen months ago." It was hard to continue. He isn't usually expected to carry on the conversation- he's much better at just nodding and smiling- but if he shuts up, Merlin won't talk and he can't stand the idea of silence.**

**"Father couldn't… well. He had a hard time of it after Morgana-" he cut himself off and leaned over Merlin's shoulder to fetch a better look at his face "I don't suppose you know about what happened with Morgana?"**

**Merlin inclined his head.**

**"Oh. Well, good. Anyway," he continued his methodical cleaning "After her betrayal… well. I think he gave up a bit." He sighed as he dipped the rag into soapy water near Merlin's middle.**

**"I tell you, it's not been an easy first year, what with the war and everything." A sarcastic snort.**

**"Actually… if I'm being honest…" He sighed from the very bottom of his toes. He wasn't even scrubbing anymore, just rolling the rag from hand to hand absentmindedly, eyes downcast.  
Merlin turned around in the tub, curiously, so that they sat face to face.**

**"It's been a hard… it's been hard since you left Merlin. I…I really missed you."**

**He seemed to realize something, and he frowned deeply, the rag now twisting and twisting under his fingers.**

**"Not that I'm trying to make myself out to be some sort of hero or anything, of course… I just…I mean it was hard, because…because you were- still are- my best friend and I missed you… and everything…but obviously, it's not like I…I mean you've been through… well, of course I don't know, I just assumed… I mean I have eyes…not that I was looking or anything… I guess I was just curious and…not that I'm trying to pressure you into saying…of course you don't have to… it's very personal…I'm guessing again, of course…** **_Shit_ ** **, Merlin."**

**The rag was completely tossed aside, and it landed with a thick wet slap on the stone floor as Arthur's hands abandoned it to rub his temples instead.**

**Finally, he looked up.**

**Their eyes met.**

**Arthur reached out with trembling fingers.**

**Merlin watched his hand, tired and wary.**

**Slowly, they bump against the smooth metal collar, the only remaining smooth part of Merlin's entire body, the yoke heavy on his shoulders. His fingers lightly traced the outline of a rune.**

**"These collars," he said in a voice that is almost a whisper. Merlin looked away, down into a tub that suddenly seem icy and endless despite the steam rising from it's shallow depths.**

**"We've seen them before once or twice but we never had to try to-"**

**Merlin shied away toward the other end of the small tub. It's only a few more inches of distance between them, but somehow it feels like a lot more. His hands wrapped around his emaciated arms, holding himself.**

**His pain is Arthur's undoing.**

**The mask slips.**

**Falls.**

**Shatters.**

**Arthur's kneeling now, hips and thighs pressed up against the sides of the tub, leaning over the water towards Merlin. His hands grip the edges on either side to keep his balance.**

**"Merlin- Merlin," he assures quickly in a low voice, "it's okay."**

**He gives a small smile as his head dips so he can look at his unreadable face. One hand stretches out to touch Merlin's jaw, delicately.**

**A nagging part way back in his brain wonders if he's crossing some sort of line.**

**But Merlin is here, so he doesn't care.**

**"You don't have to pretend anymore, Merlin. Gaius told me everything."**

**Merlin's eyes lift towards Arthur's, clearly skeptical.**

**It makes Arthur's grin broaden, and suddenly he wants to laugh out loud and he's not sure what's wrong with him.**

**They're too close, now.**

**"A year after… well, after, we all thought you were dead and… he came to me- he was so scared, Merlin, he was nearly shaking, but he said it didn't matter anymore because you were gone so I might as well know the truth because he owed it to you to tell me… and he did, Merlin, he told me everything. About your magic, and how many times you've saved my ungrateful arse- saved Camelot, for that matter, and how you never got any credit ever... I was mad at first… but…" his eyes stare into Merlin but they are looking far, far away. "…he was, err, very convincing. He made me swear not to tell my father…"**

**Merlin looks at him, blinking with astonishment, eyes wide and shining and bright with emotion. Arthur gives a short chuckle, low and wavering, at his incredulous expression.**

**"And I just want you to know it's okay. You're still… you. You don't have to lie anymore… and I know the collar takes your magic away because we've seen them a few times before, on druids. We've never been successful at taking one off yet, but we've never really tried properly…"**

**He nods, more to himself really, than to Merlin.**

**"But don't worry," he says, sparkling teeth flash in a genuine smile, "We're going to get you your magic back."**

**And suddenly Arthur is both wet and warm, because Merlin has risen to his knees in order to throw his arms around him, burying his face shyly in Arthur's unsuspecting neck.**

**He blinks, mouth slightly open in surprise.**

**Then he's hugging Merlin back, and he's so thin that with their chests pressed up against each other his arms can practically wrap around the other boy and come back to touch his own rib cage.**

**If he squeezes hard enough, Merlin might just snap in two.**

**The entire front of his shirt, as well as both his sleeves, is clinging damply to his skin, dreadfully uncomfortable…but he doesn't care.**

**His cheek is pressed into Merlin's overgrown and dirty hair.**

**He closes his eyes to block out the world, because at the moment…nothing else is important.**

**And there's a strange sensation that's squeezing his heart so painfully he thinks it will burst in its grip.**

**It's guilt.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want everyone to know that this would NOT BE HAPPENING if it was't for Aseptic (ff.net) who is completely amazing and way more patient that I deserve. You should go read her stuff and just love her.

**Beyond the window of Arthur’s chambers the sky is just beginning to yawn as servants descend like locusts once more, quickly preparing the dining room for them. To the serving staff, Merlin’s sudden appearance has become quite the fox in the hen house.**

**Arthur knows that ordering dinner two hours early is the sort of thing that makes the cook want to strangle him, so he’s kept well away from the kitchen lest it happens. According to George, her rage had only subsided when she discovered it was for Merlin. (“You mean that boy who used to steal my biscuits? He’s alive?”)**

**Merlin’s hair is still wet and shining when the two sit down at Arthur’s private table, even though the food hasn’t been properly laid out yet. Now the King is sitting to eat with a servant, without the fire properly lit, before the main course is even laid on the table... Arthur’s pretty sure he can hear George having a conniption from where he’s sitting.**

**Merlin eating, as it turns out, is one of the strangest things Arthur has ever seen. He’s tucking in like the meal has massacred his entire family and he’s extracting revenge - it’s like, well, like the food is delicious and Merlin is starving, literally weak with malnutrition. His fingertips shine with grease as he quite bluntly stuffs bits of warm pork into an already full maw.**

**Arthur’s stomach clenches and twists painfully like a wrung-out rag. There is something so desperate, so animalistic in the way Merlin eats...it makes his insides feel as they are covered in a layer of frost.**

**Arthur isn’t sure how to act around this new Merlin, this silent stranger who graces his table. He is different from the Merlin he knew, in many ways. For one thing, four years ago he would have made a joke about Merlin’s lack of manners, and they’d have a laugh and move on.**

**But he could hardly do that now. He didn’t like feeling so clueless- he had no map, no way to navigate this alien territory.**

**Uninterested in his own food, he let his hands twist restlessly in his lap. He doesn’t usually have to deal with this- starving prisoners of war, emaciated bodies, children crying from hunger... it’s not in his job description. He doesn’t like seeing people like this- he doesn’t like seeing Merlin like this. He knows about it, of course. He’s heard stories from Knights and villagers alike... but hearing about it and actually seeing it are two very different things.**

**His heart squeezes painfully as guilt begins to creep over him like a shadow. Guilt that Merlin was starving and he was not. Guilt, because he knows that if he wanted a ten course feast he could have it in an hour. Guilt, because he was the only one responsible for calling off the search and yet here Merlin is- beaten but alive.**

**Arthur has the feeling that he is walking on eggshells – as if the wrong move might cause Merlin’s already weak body to break clean in half. It is something he is unaccustomed too, especially around Merlin, to whom he’d always been able to speak his mind.**

**He’d already grieved- cried and mourned and healed. He accepted that they would never fully know what happened to Merlin and with difficulty, moved on. Now here Merlin is, haunting him like a ghost, dropping back into his life as suddenly as the first time he’d entered it, and it’s so good to see him but... Arthur is elated, confused, scared and nostalgic all in one: it’s overwhelming. It makes his head spin.**

**It makes him feel sick.**

**He swallows thickly as his eyes graze over an oblivious Merlin, whose elbows stand guard fiercely on either side of his overflowing plate, as if he expected it to be taken away.**

**No food is off limits- Merlin consumes everything with equal gusto and pleasure. Even foods that Arthur specifically remembers Merlin not liking he seems to reunite with like old friends. One summer in particular, a horrible pestilence had wiped out much of the land’s cattle. Consequently, their meals were composed greatly of bread, vegetables, and due to an unusually large harvest, lots of asparagus. Like it was yesterday, Arthur can recall Merlin swearing he’d never eat it again if he lived to be one hundred. Now he digs into the fried pile of them like they hide the key to eternal life.**

**He has eyes only for his plate, as if it is a lover of his. Each brush of sticky fingers against shining silver speaks like an intimate kiss. But it is more than just his atrocious table manners that makes Arthur watch with such rapt engrossment. Those are easily forgiven.**

**Merlin seems to be having a vicious debate with his food. Whenever he takes a bite he shakes his head so hard his unruly hair flops about on his forehead. Several times he turns his head sideways like he was trying to get water out of his ear, and with almost every mouthful he stretches out his throat and points his chin straight up in the air like he is heartily intrigued by the ceiling. His head jerks in such a fashion that Arthur actually wonders if Merlin has undergone such extensive damage that he had perhaps lost complete muscular control over his body.**

**Arthur has barely touched his own meal for watching this bizarre display. Halfway through chewing his potatoes it hits him.**

**Oh.**

**His tongue.**

**Without it, he can’t manipulate the food in his mouth. Eating is, apparently… difficult. Merlin doesn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he seems to be enjoying himself thoroughly.**

**Smiling a bit to himself and nibbling on the warm, white, cotton of a roll, Arthur leans back in his chair… and suddenly notices he isn’t the only one who’s staring. It is like time itself is stopped. The maid who lit the fire has halted to stare at Merlin mid-step, ash-bucket swinging on a crooked elbow, mouth so wide a dragon could have flown out of it. Philip, the servant hovering by Arthur’s elbow, in the middle of lighting the candles on the table, is goggling openly.**

**Arthur places his palms flat on the table and sighs loudly, giving off his best glare. That’s all it takes to send them scuttling again- the maid off to the servant’s quarters, Philip around to the other side of the table to light the other half of the candles. At his sigh, Merlin glances up, a questioning look in his face. Arthur smiles to reassure him, and to his surprise, for the first time since his arrival in Camelot, Merlin smiles back at him.**

**Arthur supposes all he really needed was food. Hope swells in his chest. Perhaps Merlin isn’t as different as he initially thought. Maybe things will be alright.**

**And that’s when it happens.**

**Philip is standing behind Merlin, stretching his arm past Merlin’s ear to reach the last few candles.**

**And Merlin flinches. Flinches like Philip had smacked him in the head with a club, or threatened him with a knife - like his very life was endangered.**

**His clawed hands fly up instantly to his face, protecting his head which turns away. His eyes squeeze shut tightly, anticipating a blow that will never come. The sudden wrench of his elbow bumps his plate and upsets his goblet, spilling wine across the table like blood.**

**If time wasn’t stopped before, it certainly is now.**

**Philip jumps back, eyes wide in astonishment, stuttering.**

**“M-My Lord, I-I…I’m sorry-!”**

**Arthur is standing, leaning across the table, one hand outstretched to Merlin. Slowly he withdraws it.**

**“It’s alright,” he speaks to Philip, but his eyes are on Merlin.**

**He is slowly realizing what happened, lowering his arms and coming out of his defensive position, face red with shame. His eyes stay stubbornly on the table as his head bows, hands disappearing underneath the table. Even now, he looks like a child expecting a scolding.**

**Before he could think about it, Arthur reaches out and touches his shoulder gently.**

**“It’s alright.” He says again, this time lower, seeking their old intimacy.**

**Merlin does not look up.**

\--  
"That was very brave...what you did."

It was very early.

The quiet of the morning laid across the prisoners like a blanket thicker than anything they had to sleep under. Merlin was awake though- but to be fair that was hardly a voluntary decision.

He snapped his head toward the warm praise - so out of place amongst all this cold- and immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes until the race of shock along his collarbone had dissipated, unable to hold back a wince at the pain.

The never-ending labor was starting pile up in his muscles and joints. The bones of his wrists felt hot and raw, like the constant friction of bone grinding on bone had burned holes right through them.

His shoulders ached, and his abdomen ached, and every single inch of his arms ached.  
It felt like all the muscles of his body had been ripped out and replaced with thick, heavy rocks.

He could hardly move for the tightly wound tension that rolled from the bottom of his neck across his back. It was this very pain, in fact, that had awoken him from a dead sleep and he was lying on a sore stomach, hands reaching back to massage under his collar at the top of his spine in an attempt to placate his poor body.

He didn't think he was doing anything particularly brave at the moment- just massaging at his sore body and piecing together a little idea called an escape plan.

When his eyes reopened, to his great surprise, he found himself staring at a woman, one of those elusive creatures that was never around when the men were awake. Merlin suddenly realized that he had inadvertently gotten his wish. She stood above him, black hair scraggly and tangled about her dirty face, dark, hesitant eyes, and cute button nose. A thin sleeping mat, which she dragged sluggishly behind her with an equally thin hand, hung in the dirt next to her bare feet.

Instantly his tired brain perked up, wondering where on earth she had appeared from. Perhaps he wasn't as awake as he thought he was, and she was some sort of dream the loneliest bits of him had created as he slept.

But as he looked around, Merlin saw that it wasn't just her. Dozens of the same kind of creatures were shuffling through the door. An unwelcome cold breath of wind pushed past them and danced around the muted fire.

And then Merlin noticed the collar sitting on her own slender neck.

After a distinct throat-clearing, he managed to find his voice.

“Um. What?”

Brilliant, Merlin.

But she didn’t seem put off.

She let her mat fall and smack against the floor so that dust and dirt billowed up in a dirty cloud, inches from Merlin’s nose. He sneezed, and she took the opportunity to lay down on the floor next to him so that they could look at each other, one prisoner to another.

There was too little room here to get upset about her being so close, so any discomfort he might have felt at one time made no difference here.

“What you did on the way here.”

Merlin stared back blankly, unable to connect her words to anything he’d done recently.

Picking up on this, she elaborated, a small smile playing around her lips. “The whipping you took for the old woman.”

“Oh.” Merlin couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised at this unexpected acknowledgment. “How did you know about that?” he asked curiously.

“She told me about it. While we were working.”

“Oh.” And then, because he doesn’t know what else to say, he added, “Thank you.”

The girl smiled kindly. Despite the dirt and the thin face that bordered on gaunt, she really was very beautiful. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. “I’m like you,” she said, and plucked at her collar.

Merlin couldn’t help his smile. “Don’t happen to know how to get the bloody thing off, do you?”

She huffed a laugh. “No, I don’t. But… I understand…” she suddenly seemed sheepish and embarrassed and through the darkness of the hut, Merlin could see her blush.

“You should get to sleep,” she continued as she rolled over onto her back, “the men are supposed to wake up soon.”

He was tired, but if this was his last chance to find out, there was no way he was going back to sleep just yet.

“Where do you go?” he asked eagerly, looking at her with bright, curious eyes.

She turned her head to look at him. “What?”

“What are the women doing? Where are you every night? ” he asked.

She gave him a small smile for his question. “Working,” she answered simply, “we polish and sort the silver you mine.”

Merlin couldn’t help but be slightly baffled by such a simple answer to what seemed a huge mystery.

“We have to do it at night,” she said, forehead wrinkling at his silence, “because we sort what you find that same day.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Then what happens?”

She shrugged. “I think they sell it.”

Merlin nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Freya.” Her voice was soft, and she looked away towards the ceiling, like if she tried hard enough she could see right through to the stars.

“Freya,” he asked, “do you ever miss your magic?”

She was quiet and for a moment Merlin thought that she had started ignoring him. He had resigned himself to isolation when the answer was delivered.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, “but not always.”

Merlin was confused. His magic was the most vital part of him. He missed it like he would have missed his right hand. “Why?” he pressed.

“I didn’t…” she sighed and turned back to look at him properly. “Sometimes… sometimes it made me do things that I didn’t want to do.”

Merlin nodded. “Maybe you just need to practice. It used to get out of me too, when I was younger. One time, when I was angry at my mother, I made a whole outhouse explode.” Freya winced, a strange and foreign giggle rose from her lips like smoke.

Merlin laughed with her. “It was horrible. There was, uh, you know... everywhere. And of course I had to clean it all up. It took days… I smelled horrible for weeks. But after a while and some practice I got control and it stopped happening. Maybe that’s all you need, too.”  
She looked skeptical, and turned her eyes toward the ceiling again. “Maybe.”

Merlin was unperturbed, and he leaned up on one sore elbow to look at her face better. “When we get out of here,” he began grandly, but at an inmate’s loud and angry warning grunt his voice quickly fell several octaves. “I’ll teach you. I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’m pretty good myself. You’ll be a great sorceress. Just you wait.”

There was silence, but the contented, happy kind.

Merlin laid his head back down, grinning for once, and shut his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

“You never told me your name.” It was so quiet he wasn’t even sure that he really heard it.

“Merlin,” he murmured through thick lips.

“Merlin,” she repeated, “good to meet you.”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought that – in the most unlikely of places – he perhaps made a friend.

-

**The moment Arthur emerged from Merlin’s bedroom, door swinging shut with a final thud, he was surrounded by red capes and armored men who pressed in on all sides.**

**The news had spread quicker than the pox.**

**“Arthur.” It was Gwaine who spoke first. His voice was quivering with excitement and his eyes shone with a bright with a hope that hadn’t been there seen since before the war started.**

**“Is it true? Merlin’s really back? He’s really alive?”**

**Arthur pressed a hurried finger to his lips, glancing back at the door in alarm. “Shh,” he said, then added in a whisper, “He’s just gone to sleep.” With a jerk of his head he led the group down to the far end of the darkening corridor, where they wouldn’t be overheard.**

**“It’s true then?” Gwaine pressed; one hand gripped the sleeve of Arthur’s shirt excitedly. “That’s what everyone’s saying,” he continued, “Arthur’s first manservant’s come back- is it true you put a collar on him?”**

**“What?” Arthur said reproachfully, “I didn’t -!”**

**“Well I definitely saw a collar on him.” Leon said as Percy nodded in agreement.**

**“It’s true that he’s back. But that wasn’t me.” Arthur, puffing out his chest, spoke so firmly that all eyes turned onto him. “He already had the collar on when he got here. Jarin found him in the enemy’s camp- brought him back in chains… he didn’t recognize him, of course, Jarin never knew him…anyway, they brought him in with the other war prisoners.”**

**“But- but we found…the neckerchief…? Wow…” Elyan, eyebrows dipped and arms crossed, was shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “I thought…”**

**“We all did. But we didn’t find a body, did we?” Arthur said darkly.**

**“Don’t beat yourself up, Arthur,” Leon said as he slapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We looked for months. We all thought…well, how could we not? And with Morgana…?”**

**Arthur sighed heavily. He couldn’t help it… he still felt so responsible.**

**“When can we see him?” Gwaine asked, chancing a glance up the corridor at the room Arthur had just exited.**

**“Not now, you idiot, he’s just gone to bed. Could do with a few years of sleep, by the looks of him…”**

**Gwaine’s eyes narrowed and his voice was an octave lower when he spoke. “Is it really that bad?”**   
**It was Percy who answered, in a similarly low tone, “I’ve seen foxes heavier than him.”**

**And he hadn’t even seen Merlin’s back.**

**Arthur repressed a shudder. “Listen,” he said, “He’s traumatized. He can’t even talk.”**

**“He can’t talk?” Elyan asked incredulously.**

**“No,” Percy said, “His tongue’s missing.”**

**“His tongue’s missing!?” said Gwane, startled. “Arthur, you didn’t tell me his tongue was missing, bloody hell! Let me see him,” he moved to walk around Arthur, but was caught by one strong arm thrown around his middle.**

**“Not now,” Arthur said firmly, “you’ll overwhelm him. If he’s up to it, you can see him tomorrow.”**

**“What are you, his personal nurse-maid?” Gwaine snapped.**

**“Yes.”**

**And he said it with such conviction that no one else even dared to argue.**

**“Oh, that reminds me,” Leon said, holding up a finger, “Gaius wants to see him. Practically gave him a heart attack… it was all I could do to keep him in bed.”**

**“You told Gaius already?” Arthur asked.**

**Leon shrugged. “Well of course I did, he deserves to know.”**

**Exasperated, Arthur massaged his temples. “Don’t you guys have some work to do?”**

**Percy scowled at the thought of the mountain of work waiting for him. “Don’t you have a kingdom to run?”**

**“Really,” Arthur said flatly, “it’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”**

**Leon elbowed Percy’s side gently. “Yes, my Lord. We’ll talk tomorrow.”**

**Dismissed, the Knights retreated; but Arthur wasn’t quite done yet. He snagged Elyan’s arm before he managed to walk away, holding him back.**

**“My Lord?” he questioned with a bow of his head, glancing back at the other knights’ retreating backs halfway down the corridor.**

**“Elyan. I want you to ride to Cyfwich. Go to Gwen. Let her know Merlin’s alive and in Camelot.”**

**His eyes grew wide, and Arthur grimaced.**

**“Gwen, my Lord? Are you sure?”**

**“ I’m sure. She’s his very good friend and she would want to know.”**

**“But… Arthur… after what happened, how she refused you, people will talk…”**

**Arthur rolled his eyes. “They’re going to talk anyway.”**

**Elyan grinned. “Fair point. I’ll set off at first light.”**

**Arthur smiled in return, and released his friend’s arm. “Thank you.”**   
**-**   
**It wasn’t until after George had left him for the night that Arthur finally let himself be, let himself feel. He smashed through the dam he’d built to hold his emotions back and let it dissolve into dust. He let the confusion rush through his limbs and over take him.**

**Everything was so raw and so new and so explosive.**

**How could one man feel so much?**

**How much could one person endure?**

**He turned onto his stomach and wept silently.**

 

\--

Freya was everything to Merlin.

It was soon normal for Merlin to wake up extra early each morning in order to talk to her. Despite the fact they could only talk an hour or so each day before the sun fully rose, they quickly became very close friends. He found waking up to be much easier when there was something to look forward to, even when it was brutally early. Freya seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers. She never told him, but he suspected that she liked knowing that someone was waiting just to see her face when she got back in the early morning. Even though his body soon got used to the schedule, it was still a struggle.

There were, of course, times that he failed to rouse, waking instead to rough hands shaking him and gruff voices telling him to get up and get going. On occasions such as these, he was with disappointment when he realized what he’d done. Freya wouldn’t hear any of it when he tried to apologize, though.

“You need your sleep,” she would admonish, “I shouldn’t let you wake up as early as you do.”

As time went on, Merlin told her about Ealdor and about his mother. He told her about his adventures and his friends, but most importantly he told her about Camelot. He told her about all the times he’s saved Arthur’s ungrateful arse… and about the times Arthur saved his.

He spun her beautiful flaxen promises with sweet, sweet words as they bonded over the mutual losses of magic, friendship and freedom.

“Don’t get too attached to this place,” he’d grin, propping his hands behind his head.  
Freya would snort. “Attached? To this place?”

And Merlin would ignore her “Because Arthur’s probably looking for me now as we speak. He’d never abandon me. He’ll keep looking until he finds me. And when he does, I’ll take you with me, back to Camelot. You’ll love it, Freya.” He said. “You and Gwen will be such spectacular friends. It’ll be great. You’ll see.”

She always smiled for him. “I’d like that.”

Merlin knew she was skeptical. He knew she didn’t believe that Arthur was coming, but he didn’t mind. She’d see herself, eventually.

She’d see.

Then they’d be in Camelot together and this whole nightmare will have been worth if he could see her alive, really alive and smiling.

In turn, she told him all about her childhood-growing up surrounded by blue blushing mountains and a swimming in a glassy lake. She told him about her family, and how when they passed she’d been left with nothing- wandering the wilderness homeless and friendless- staying clear of big cities and populous towns, though she’d never say why. It was no wonder she’d been picked up by slave traders.

Merlin listened kindly and patiently. He did not interrupt or offer any noises of sympathy. There was too much sadness in this place for sympathy to do any good. When the whole sorry tale came to a sorry end and they’d fallen into a sad silence he reached out with cautious, comforting fingers and knotted their hands together.

“I’m your friend and your family now.” He gave a shy grin and squeezed her hand, but she shook her head.

“Wrong,” she whispered. “You’re my home.”  
-  
The winter months were the worst. As the cold rushed in, Merlin’s motivation for escape seemed to rush out. He didn’t want to leave without Freya, but an escape plan with an extra body would be twice as hard, especially since they were now both so weak and unhealthy.  
It was impossible to feel warm, even huddled next to the fire. It was as if Merlin’s body was slowly transforming into ice, and it became difficult to remember what heat actually felt like; difficult to remember that there had ever been anything other than this frigid prison of a body.

The only time he did feel warm was when he was working, and then it was almost too much to bear with the sweat pouring down his face and into his vision, stinging his eyes and making him curse. But the escape from the bitter cold was almost enough to make him look forward to it. It was a tough trade off: pain for heat.

The coldest mornings found him huddled together with Freya, tucked tightly into each other’s bodies. They slept directly on the hard floor, using their doubled mats for blankets that they cowered under against the cold embrace of winter while they debated about the best bits of summer in soft whispers. (Merlin insisted it was the sun, but Freya would not budge from wildflowers.) It helped with the cold, especially in the moments after Freya arrived and before Merlin left.

But while they were busy with just surviving, whether they knew it or not, things were in a downward spiral.

Each day, there was less and less silver. Each day, they were fed less and less. Merlin’s concern for Freya grew every time he counted her bones. It was as if all the meat and water had been sucked out of her.

He saved his dinner for her nearly every night, stuffing it into his shirt so the guards wouldn’t see. Even though hunger scraped at the insides of his stomach like fingernails, it was worth it.

Freya was worth it.

And she ate gratefully... at first.  
After a while she began refusing. “You need your strength more than I do,” she’d insist, trying to give it back.

“I’m not going to eat it if you don’t,” he’d counter.

It led to several bitter arguments and a few meals were thrown completely away, just out of spite. Things were moving quickly, and they weren’t ready for the change.

Freya would bring back whispers of gossip from the guards. The mine cost more money to keep open then made- and they needed every cent they could get with a war going on. Rumors about possibly being shut down ran rampant. Apparently, their days were numbered.

They really shouldn’t have been surprised when, in early spring workers began to be rounded up and shipped away. The first time he woke up to the sound of fearful protests and slaves being yanked from sleep, only to be clad in iron, a solid chunk of icy panic slid down his throat. He watched with cold despair as they were marched out the door and into the unknown.

He wasn’t about to let Freya and him be shipped off to who knows where and what fate.  
There was still no sign of Arthur. More and more Merlin found himself having to stamp out the fear that he wouldn’t come at all. He would, even if Arthur was taking his sweet time about it.

But they didn’t have the luxury of waiting any longer- Freya had been here long enough.

Merlin decided it would have to be at night, when they were both together. He was not prepared to take the risk of splitting up and possibly losing her. When he talked to Freya about it she was concerned, and far more hesitant.

“I just don’t know, Merlin,” she protested, hugging her knees to her chest.

It was times like these that Merlin had trouble keeping his voice down. How she could be anything but dying to get out of here he would never understand. His hand raked through his grimy hair. “Freya, they’re shipping people out in case you haven’t noticed and we could very well be next!”  
“In case you haven't noticed, we’re slaves, Merlin. What does it matter where we live? It’s not going to change what we are.”

Merlin bristled. “For all you know the next place could be worse than this one. They are going to separate us and I’m not going to just sit back and let it happen. I won’t be a slave for much longer, Freya, and neither will you. Camelot is waiting for us! All we have to do is get there.”

“Merlin, I’m sorry, but there’s no chance. They’d catch us before we even set foot out the door.”

“Freya, I can get us there, I know I can. Trust me, please. I can take care of us. I can do this.”

She shook her head. “I....”  
“What?”

“I don’t... I don’t fit in very well around other people. I- I don’t... do well in towns.”

“Don’t do well in- Freya! You’re not doing well here! I know we like to pretend otherwise but you need medical attention. I’m not going to let you die in this hole!”

She resisted, but Merlin was adamant and she eventually agreed.

He saved two pieces of ore from the mine- the biggest and best he could find. He stuffed them deep into his pants. During the walk back that evening he shuffled and stumbled until there was a good couple of meters between the last man in line and himself.

Both pieces were for the soldier outside the door to their hut. Merlin wondered briefly if it a little was overkill... but he didn’t want to take any chances.

The exchange was quick as a flash.

“Forget to lock the door tonight,” he muttered.

The man had just laughed. Merlin had no idea if this was a good or bad sign, but he couldn’t be seen lingering, so he stumbled on inside.

He tried to get some sleep before the women returned but, even though he was exhausted, it was hard. His heart pounded in his chest.

They were getting out.

They were getting out tonight.

They were leaving...he hardly dared believe it.

When all was dark around him the women filed in, tired and silent as ever.

Together he and Freya sat, holding their breath, waiting for all the others to fall asleep as they imagined the infinite amount of things that could go wrong.

After what felt like hours Merlin rose to his knees. Freya, who had been lightly dozing with her head on his shoulder woke as soon as he touched her arm.  
“It’s time.” he whispered.

Her face set.

Together, hands clasped, they crept toward the door, quieter than sleeping mice as they stepped over fellow prisoners.

‘As soon as we’re safe,’ Merlin promised himself as he tip toed around a young boy who couldn’t have been more than thirteen. ‘As soon as I’m back in Camelot...I will tell Arthur about the people here... I will save them.’

But he had to get himself out first.

He touched the door gently. If his bribe wasn’t taken...if it was locked...

He tried the latch with slick fingers.

It gave.

The weight fell from his shoulders as he released a breath.

Freya, her nerves wound as tightly as his, shushed him.

His head poked out of the door and the cool night air felt like refreshing kisses from freedom itself.

There was no one around. Woods stood 400 yards to the right. He withdrew his head and nodded to Freya, who nodded back.

Silent as death he eased the door open, just wide enough for their bodies. Merlin squeezed through first and Freya followed. They spared one quick glance around before they broke into a run, and sped as quickly as they could toward the safety of the trees.

Merlin had to fight off hysterical laughter that threatened to burst from his mouth.

They were out.

They were free.

He was safe.

Visions of Camelot swam before his eyes. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? They’d be home in a week. He was almost skipping.

His freedom was short lived.

Suddenly, there was a strange whistling noise. It started out muffled, but grew louder and louder - and then wham. Something smacked into his ankles, hard, and he went down. It all happened so fast he didn’t even have time to throw his hands up before bony joints scraped against solid earth.

Bewildered, at first he thought it was a tree root. He’d just tripped, that’s all. But when he tried to get up, his ankles were bound tight.

He looked down. Rope coiled around his legs and pinned them together. A heavy stone was tied to one end, but before he could sort out what had just happened, he heard it.

Running footsteps. Indistinct shouting. The blood froze in his veins.

“Merlin?” Freya whispered desperately from somewhere ahead of him, “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine, Freya, just keep going!”

His hands worked quickly, tugging at the stone but the rope only tightened. In his panic he couldn’t find where it started or where it stopped. He tried wiggling his feet out instead.

A pair of small hands joined his, scrabbling over the rope like spiders.

“Freya!” He whispered harshly, “What are you -go!”

She shook her head without looking at him, and her voice was close to tears when she spoke. “Not without you.”

Then she gasped, and her hands jerked away. Merlin’s head whipped around. “Freya!”

A guard had her by the upper arms hauled her back as she struggled. Already, a length of rope was being wound around her wrists.

Hands clamped down on his shoulders.

Words held him in place like a jail cell.

“Look here,” it said, “I think we've got ourselves our first two volunteers.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been quite some time since my last update, and for that I apologize. Would it help if I went ahead and blamed finals?
> 
> **This would not have been possible without the help and guidance of my beta Aseptic (ff.com). She is extremely dedicated and simply fabulous. **
> 
> So without further ado:

**Merlin is glaring. Although it is obvious that he is in pain, Arthur is the one doing the squirming.**

**He tries not to look at Merlin's face. Instead, his gaze shifts downwards to watch the progress of the bandage winding its around Merlin's** **torso; but his black and blue ribs stick out like fingers reaching out from inside him. It makes Arthur wince.**

**He finds himself babbling like a fool to cover up his own anxiety.**

" **Just... just as soon as Florin is finished..." Arthur says, "We'll go and see Gaius, I promise, just a little longer."**

**Florin... the new...** **court physician.**

_**That** _ **had certainly been an uncomfortable, one-sided conversation.**

**Merlin was like the son Gaius never had. After Merlin vanished... it had been hard on everyone, but it had been especially hard on the old man.**

**Before his arrival in Camelot, Gaius's life had been filled with lonely meals and empty homes. Merlin had been the light that had burst into his life; after such an experience, there was no way he could go back to the darkness** **.**

**Gaius held out hope longer than anyone else. He'd been downright merciless to the Knights who came back empty-handed day... after day... after day. He'd even gone so far as to force his company on several search parties, convinced that his presents would make a difference, convinced that** _**he** _ **would be able to find Merlin, convinced that these 'idiot, meat-brained sacks of muscle' were just too** _**stupid.** _

**But, as much to Arthur's disappointment as Gaius's, never so much as a trace was found.**

**And with no one there to help him on house calls, or to go out and collect his herbs, his job performance took a downward turn.**

**Then, so did his health.**

**As the years passed, Gaius became a hunched and tired old man, sulking around the castle in a dark cloud of never-ending grief.**

**Arthur didn't really have a choice- they had to bring someone else in.**

**At first, Florin just took care of the outlying villages, the ones that required a day or more of travel that Gaius- with his age and his health- just wasn't up to.**

**Then he took on the outlying villages as well as the lands surrounding the Castle, as Gaius handled all illnesses within the walls.**

**But soon enough, Florin took them on as well. Gaius still lived in his old quarters in the castle, and he still helped out a bit- curing the sniffles, making some tonics, consulting, but it was more to make him feel useful than anything else.**

**Merlin had been gone only four years, but Gaius had aged a lifetime.**

**Now, Arthur looks back at Merlin's face.**

**It was Arthur who had woken him this morning, while George stood by, scowling. It was Arthur who carried a breakfast tray twice as heavy as his own (the term 'breakfast' was one Arthur used loosely- it was well past noon when they decided to wake him). It was also Arthur who stepped directly into what used to be last night's dinner, now a thick and chunky pool over the edge of Merlin's bed.**

**Arthur cleaned it, too. Well, sort of. When Merlin's gaunt face face peeked out from the sheets, he reached automatically for the dull rag in the bedside table with one thin arm, his body creaking as he pushed himself up. But before he could swing his feet to the floor, Arthur pushed his hand away.**

" **Nevermind it, Merlin," he said smoothly, "Eat."**

**Merlin did not require more convincing.**

**Arthur threw the same dull rag over the pool of sick and resolved to tell George the third guest room needed cleaning.**

**The midnight vomiting episode did nothing to inject any caution into Merlin's morning appetite. Long fingers pushed chunks of fresh fruit, fatty sausages and warm bread into his mouth so quickly, Arthur suspected that he had decided to forgo chewing altogether and was just shoving the food directly down his throat.** **He supposed he should have said something... but he didn't exactly relish telling a starving man to slow down and eat less. Breakfast hadn't made a reappearance yet, but Arthur had his suspicions.**

" **There we are," Florin pats Merlin's shoulder gently with a warm hand, signalling that he's finished.**

**He's a nice man, caring and patient, and good at his job, but Arthur catches Merlin shooting him a disgruntled look as he slides from the table.**

" **Just one more thing," Florin interjects quickly. He goes to his shelf and selects three small vials- one is pale yellow like melted butter, one clear, the third a murky grey.**

" **This," he says, handing the yellow one to Merlin, "Will aid your body in healing all those bruises. This one," he hands him the clear one, "Will take the edge off the pain. And** _ **this**_ **," he holds out the murky grey liquid, "Will help you sleep."**

**Arthur snorts.** **"Help him sleep? I don't think he needs any help with that... he was asleep til noon!"**

**Merlin looks over at him.**

**He is not smiling.**

**Florin shifts uncomfortably. "It will, ah, ensure you have a dreamless sleep, Merlin," he says gently, gazing at him sympathetically.**

**Merlin takes the vial and stows it deep in his pocket.**

**Florin looks relieved. "Take them just before bed, then," he says with a smile. "Come back in three days and we'll take a look at your progress."**

**Arthur does not like how easily Merlin can make him feel like a fool.**

**\--**

_You are two sides of the same coin…uniting the land of Albion…_

That's what the Dragon had said. Merlin and Arthur… a story that would live long in the hearts of men.

Some destiny.

Half a coin, indeed. He certainly felt half now – half alive. Half human.

What had  _happened_? What was he  _doing_  in this hell hole? It had been almost an  _entire year._

Where was Arthur?

Now not only did the collar strangle his throat, but something else that also hung from his neck strangled his pride (or what was left of it anyway) – a price tag.

The people on either side of him wore tags as well. To the left was a big burly man (known for stealing food at the mine) and on the right, a small delicate woman shivered in the cold. Here humans poor in compassion bought humans poor in gold.

_A great destiny..._

Was  _this_  really his great destiny?

To be sold like cattle? To remain homeless and hungry and enslaved? To be unable to help all these people who waited, in destitute, for a savior?

He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the wooden platform under his feet. His face lifted only when pairs of meaty hands forced his chin up and pried his mouth open to look at his teeth.

_His teeth._

He felt like a horse- except horses were fed better.

There were sixteen of them in total, standing in one hunched and drooping line on a small wooden stage in the middle of a circular clearing. Potential buyers (he refused to think of them as potential  _masters_ ) filed by, appraising them, crossing their arms and staring with cold and unfeeling eyes.

His shirt had been taken away and he breathed fresh air freely though his skin. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he was able to just stand still and soak in nature. Yet even now, the heat of the sun eluded him as it hid behind a dense layer of thick, grey clouds. Though he waited patiently to see its brilliant face, if just for one golden second, it remained hidden.

The weather was as impassive as the sky. It was warm, but without a shirt it was cold enough to be bothered by the wind. Merlin let his eyes shut, enveloping himself in darkness.

With his eyes closed he could pretend he was anywhere: stretched out in a green field stippled with a healthy helping of bright wildflowers, red and blue and yellow. Drops of sun rained down on him. His outstretched limbs reveled in the feel of grass. Birds and insects sang him a calming symphony. Camelot, the castle, everyone he loved was yards away, just over the next hill. Gaius was waiting for him to come home for supper…

Cold hands on his arms snapped him out of his revere and broke the surface of reality. A woman, ink black hair pulled back in a tight bun, lifted his arms up above his head, appraising his abdomen thoughtfully. She turned him around with rough hands. But when she saw the scars that littered his back she made a disapproving noise and walked on, lips self-righteously pursed. This had happened twice already.

Apparently no one wanted an unruly slave.

Merlin could not tell if this was good or bad. He had no idea what would happen to him if he didn't sell. He seemed to pass every other test – the salty fingers in his mouth to feel his teeth, the squeezing of his arms to feel his muscles, but once they saw that he'd had to be disciplined they seemed to turn in favor of a more amicable slave.

Merlin supposed that not only did a slave have to be totally submissive; they also had to smile graciously in the face of the very person who stole their life.

So they weren't asking for too much, then.

There was one thing for which he was grateful, however. Freya was with him and she hadn't been sold yet either. Even though she stood at the far end of the stage along with all the other women, he could see her. There was no way he could put a price on such a privilege.

The strongest and burliest of the men were the first to go, and quickly their numbers were reduced. The food-stealer on Merlin's left lasted less than a half hour before he was bought and paid for.

The blonde had taken more time, but she too, had sold. Merlin watched her as she trotted off behind a man who held the end of the rope that bound her wrists. The leer on his face when he turned back to look her made Merlin's stomach clench like he might vomit. He wondered exactly how long it would take before she was as blank faced as the wife that brought up the rear, swaying as she walked like a sick dog.

Their numbers continued to dwindle.

Soon there were only six of them left: One man worn old with age, Freya, three other women who looked more dead than alive, and himself.

But prime selling hours seemed to have came and gone. The little circular field that held their stage was almost empty save for the guards that stood on either end, and a few lingering customers. Most of them were gathering their cloaks about their bodies as they headed off in different directions, casting worried glances up at the darkening sky.

Merlin began strategizing. After all, now was his chance. The day was coming to an end- there were less people around, less helping hands. The guards had been standing on their feet all day long. They were tired, and underpaid. No one would want to chase two unwanted, useless slaves through miles of woods. Freya's time in the mine was long and cruel to her and she had grown thin and weak. If he could somehow make a distraction long enough for her to get a head start...

There was a problem in the form of a greying man standing off to Merlin's right, who was watching him intently. He was in charge of all the buying and bargaining. Each time someone turned away without Merlin's wrists being cinched in rope, the man's scowl grew deeper and deeper, as if Merlin had purposefully gone and gotten himself whipped just to cheat him out of a few gold coins.

But as one last man approached, Merlin saw determination flash in his eyes. The man clearly did not mean to let this new customer leave without a new slave or two.

He waited patiently, watching as this stout, corpulent man inspected Merlin.

The new customer checked everything: Merlin's teeth, Merlin's muscles, Merlin's eyes. He hummed and hawed and scratched his enlarged stomach as a red tongue slid over rotten teeth.

But, per usual, Merlin's back seemed to be the dealbreaker. Just as the man was walking away, however, the boss swooped in.

"Boan," he sang with the air of two old friends meeting for the first time in years. "My favorite customer." His smile grew as he slung his arm around Boan's shoulders. "I just can't help but notice that you don't seem very interested in buying today...I can't think of why, not when we have such perfectly good stock..."

The second man, Boan, snorted at this. "Good stock? I saw the scars on that boy. I don't have the time to teach a slave its place."

"Oh, but Boan," the man continued with his honey-sweet tone, "we both know that discipline is really the area you  _excel_  in, after that _unfortunate_  incident last time..." Merlin's skin felt icy at the words.

Boan seemed to bristle at that. "That's another thing!" he turned, pointing, "That's another thing, last time you sold me that skimpy boy 'n he could hardly lift nothing!"

The man nodded sympathetically. "He was rather frail, wasn't he? But he was so young, and so sickly... the whole thing was just so lamentable... but, Boan, I  _assure_  you that  _this_  slave is  _so_  much more... resilient."

Boan looked skeptical, and the man plowed on, one finger sinking into Boan's chest. "We got him from one of the mines in the Black Mountains, you know how they work them up there, I'm sure he's got plenty of muscle built up... if anything," He let a musical little laugh punctuate his speech, "the scars only  _prove_  that he's got plenty of strength left in him. The simple fact is," he let his voice drop, "that harvest season is around the corner, and well, I don't make it a habit to peek in on the lives of my customers, no, not even my favorite ones, but it seems to me that you  _might_  need a little extra help, Boan, if you want to get those forty acres to market before that neighbor of yours does. Not to mention, I think we  _all_  know that that little wife of yours could use some help in the kitchen, no?"

Boan seemed to consider this, slowly. Merlin could feel his eyes sliding over to him, and down his body. He shivered.

"Knock off eight gold pieces." Boan said gruffly, arms crossing.

"Two." The second man shoots back.

"Six."

"Four."

"Five, or I'll leave without him."

The second man laughs, but there is no humor in his eyes. "You always did drive a hard bargain, Boan!"

Knowing that he was going for nearly half price was not a comfort to Merlin.

Gold changed hands. Merlin's stomach tightened in time with the rope around his wrists and suddenly he was being led down the stairs and onto the grass.

This was his chance. A little bit of violence, a small "escape-attempt" maybe a little mental breakdown... no one would notice a girl as small as Freya sneaking off. He would escape later, find his way back somehow, meet up with her in the woods... and if he couldn't?

Well, Merlin had never been a greedy man- her safety was enough for him.

He bent his knees, ready to pounce and then nearly fell over after Boan gave an abrupt yank on his rope. He stumbled to avoid falling face-first in the dirt.

That was when he heard it. The greying man was talking to the guards in an exhausted sort of voice, and the guard was gesturing toward the unsold slaves: the old man, Freya, and the three other women.

"What should we do with 'em?" he asked, mopping hair back from his sweaty brow.

The man sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "Just... get rid of them."

The words echoed through the fog enshrouding his skull.

_Just... get rid of them._

"No," his voice was so quiet, even he couldn't hear it.

One guard, stony-faced, herded them together. Only, they heard the man too, and alarm was apparent on all of their faces. They clawed and clung to one another, huddling together like cornered animals. The shortest and clearly the youngest of them let out a horrible wail.

A second guard pulled his sword out of his scabbard as Merlin felt another insistent tug on his wrists.

Merlin went wild.

"Freya!" He moved so quickly the end of the rope nearly flew from his new master's thick hands, but he managed to catch it at the last moment, snapping Merlin's movement short several meters of the stage.

But Merlin wasn't going to go quietly anymore. His feet dug into the ground as he struggled to move forward.

He could see her face from where he stood, white faced and scared. Her hand gripped the women next to her while at the same time a guard was holding onto her arm, keeping the small group together and under control.

"Freya!"

He screamed and screamed until his throat was felt like it was coated in blood- raw, hot and blistered.

Freya was his sun. Freya was his world, his air, his earth, his bones. She was all he had- his only friend, the only thing he had worth fighting for, worth living for. He'd lost Arthur, and he'd lost Camelot...and he couldn't bear to lose her too. If she were to leave the sky would turn black. The earth would cease to turn.

She was everything.

She was the  _only_  thing... she couldn't leave him alone like this.

Merlin struggled violently to get to the stage, yanking his arms away, fighting back with a strength he didn't know he still had buried inside him. He wasn't the only one voice screaming. Voices surround him.

"Woah!"

"Hold him!"

"Someone shut his damn mouth!"

Hands grabbed him; they anchored his limbs, weighed him down to the ground. They shoved his face into damp earth, and he lost track of Freya's face.

He thrashed against the weight blanketing him and although he felt his limbs connect a few times with what must have been solid human flesh, he was weak, and they outnumbered him.

There were no thoughts, and no coherent words, just a stark electricity, just the burning, white-hot coals of urgent panic that swept through his veins and caused him to scream, to struggle, to revolt. His eyes were stinging and his voice was breaking and then he was crying, tears so hot he felt they should have been steaming. His heart was beating so fast his chest ached.

A hand covered his mouth but he sank his teeth into it, and it drew away.

There was a sharp burst of pain across his cheek and nose as he was struck, likely by the same hand he bit. His screaming became a grunt of pain.

Even with the knee that dug painfully into the bony spine of his back, and a hand that gripped a chunk of his hair and kept his face pressed into the dirt, his eyes were quickly shifting, searching for her. They cast up and around, and landed square on her face.

Her eyes were on his.

It occurred to Merlin that this was probably a better distraction than he could ever have possibly planned. He had all the attention he wanted and then some.

But it didn't work.

A guard was gripping her upper arm tightly; there would be no escape.

It was absolutely no comfort to know that no matter what he did he would have failed.

He could see the anxiety in her face from where he lay in the mud. Even though she looked right at him and smiled, she could not hide the fear.

Every stupid empty promise he ever made her ran through his mind.

_Arthur is going be save us._

_One day, I'll take you swimming in Lake Avalon._

_You're going to with me live in Camelot's castle._

_I'm going to take care of you._

And the biggest lie of all:

_You're going to be so happy, Freya._

She mouthed something to him, and it took a few moments for his adrenaline-riddled brain to absorb it.

"It's okay..." she said.

Her mouth was a smile...her eyes were screaming.

That was the last image he has of her.

For the second time, something blunt collided with the back of his head; the world went dark...and that was the moment when he stopped believing Arthur was coming.

\--

**Merlin remains a constant three strides ahead of Arthur as he speeds toward Gaius's** **tower. Pace brisk, the people of the castle pass by. There are missing people, new faces... and more than enough gained sorrow. Even that ridiculous tapestry's** **new, Arthur** **muses to himself as he passes the adornment on the wall to his left. It occurs to him that the Camelot Merlin left, and the one he returned to, are two very different places. He can't help but wonder if Merlin notices all these changes, too. He almost begins pointing them out, drawing a breath speak... but he stops himself. Now is** **not the time. Merlin doesn't care... he just wants to get home.**

**Arthur couldn't blame Merlin for being so anxious: if there were something as comforting and familiar in the castle for him, he'd have been running towards it too.**

**Merlin bursts through the door in a frenzy (Arthur just on his heels) and the reaction is immediate.**

**Gaius is seated at his table, upon which two plates and a jug of water are also resting. A full pot is steaming over the fireplace and Arthur can smell lunch simmering. He doesn't like to think how long it took Gaius, for whom it is challenging to get from one end of the room to the other, to get all of this together. It's more activity than Arthur's seen in him this entire past year.**

**Gaius's head is resting in his hand. He's been waiting, waiting for Merlin to come home and eat with him, just like he had been for the last four years. As soon as he hears the door creak open his chin jerks up. His eyes go wide. He struggles raise like the house is on fire, but before he can so much as stand, Merlin is at his side.**

**They're embracing, Merlin clinging to him desperately, his tight grip on Gaius's shirt causing deep ripples in the fabric.**

**Gaius's old and strained voice snaps like brittle wood.**

" **Merlin," he's sobbing, wheezing.** **"** _ **Merlin."**_

**Gaius's arms encircle him tightly as his cheek presses into Merlin's overgrown hair. Merlin's eyes are rimmed red before he buries them into Gaius's neck. His shoulders heave sharply with the force of his desperate, gasping, sobs. He sucks in broken breaths of air, and heaves them rattling out. It's a strange, eerily quiet way of crying, with him so small and curled up into Gaius like he could just disappear... Arthur's stomach wrenches; he can feel goosebumps rising on his skin.**

**Gaius's eyes seek out Arthur's over top of Merlin's shaggy hair, where one wrinkled hand strokes his head soothingly.**

" **Thank you," he manages weakly, "Thank you, for bringing him to me."**

**Arthur scrapes a smile together. "I promised I would, didn't I?"**

**Gaius turns back to Merlin, and together, with Merlin folded up in his arms, they rock slowly on the bench, wrapped in a moment they'd hardly dared to dream for.**

**It is so intimate, so haunting that Arthur suddenly feels like an intruder.**

**He takes a step back, out the door.**

**And quietly closes it behind him.**

**\--**

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Merlin's head hung limply.

His hands were again up, over his head. This time he was in a barn, surrounded by the smell of steaming dung and a few disinterested animals, aside from the noise.

But the whiplashes didn't hurt as much this time, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe because he'd gone through it before. Maybe because he knew what to expect.

Maybe because Freya was dead and his whole body was numb.

He had a feeling it was the last one.

He heard the crack, but the pain barely registered.

The sun had gone out, and all he felt was cold.

Something deep inside him had broken, snapped clean in two, and now there was nothing to mend it. Behind him Boan panted with the effort of his wild swings. Between heavy breaths he ranted endlessly about proper slave behavior, showing Merlin his place... the sound broke over Merlin like the ocean over rock.

This man could do nothing to touch him now, for what could hurt him?

Boan only whipped Merlin's back.

Freya's death shattered his heart.

What was physical pain, compared to the agony in his head? He felt like he was trapped in his own mind, his own body, scraping jagged and bloodied fingernails against the walls, begging, screaming, crying for relief.

He's not sure how long he was there that night- he lost count after fifteen.

\--

**Arthur leaves the throne room with a sigh. These meetings were grueling, exhausting, and horribly boring. He did not expect rebuilding after a war to be so ridiculously difficult. Sometimes it felt like his work would never end.**

**His eyes cast around the hall, but he doesn't see Merlin. He tries not to feel disappointed... but he can't help it and his insides deflate slightly. Sometimes, he would emerge from meetings nursing a giant headache and strained eyes, only to find Merlin, sitting on the floor next to the door. His knees would be huddled up to his chest, and his head would leaned back against the cold stone, waiting for him. The way Merlin's face lit up when Arthur finally walked out...it never failed to make Arthur smile. Having someone wait for him like that... it was... nice. Nice in ways Arthur can't really describe. He'd already talked to a mason about a bunch put in at the foot of the staircase.**

**But this one had taken nearly three hours and Arthur couldn't** _**really** _ _**expect** _ **Merlin to spend all that time waiting for him, so he tries to be reasonable. Keen to find him, he sets off towards Gaius's tower.  
**

**It hadn't taken long for Arthur to become Merlin's unofficial keeper, but the only times he wasn't towing Merlin around the castle like a disobedient shadow, Merlin could be found in Gaius's quarters, listening to him talk, or sorting herbs or being constantly fed. (Gaius, it appeared, was as keen to put some meat on his bones as Arthur was.)** **Gaius, to the castle's delight, was feeling more and more energized with each second that passed with Merlin there. The color was returning to his cheeks and he had already found the strength to get out of bed and dine with Merlin for more than one meal.**

**Gaius, however, promised that he hadn't seen Merlin since that morning's breakfast, sending Arthur off to the other side of the castle.**

**While Merlin** **was improving, Arthur, on the other hand, was more stressed than ever. He was constantly giving orders, most of them concerning Merlin's well being. He managed even the small details- everything from, "Don't give him too much, I don't want him to vomit again," regarding a heavy breakfast tray, to, "Don't make the bathwater too hot, I don't want you to burn him." The servants rolled their eyes when Arthur's back was turned but all the same they were careful to make everything perfect.**

**By the time Arthur wanders outside to the training yard, he's annoyed, still lacking one large-eared-friend, and running low on patience. Arms crossed pointedly, he watches with a scowl as the Knights drill, and waits until he catches Gwaine's eye to summon him over.**

**He comes with a smile.**

**"Arthur," he greets, arms out, cape flapping, "about time you joined us!"**

**Arthur does not return the enthusiasm. "Where's Merlin?" he asks flatly.**

**Gwaine's hands fall to his sides. "I brought him out with us, thought he might like the fresh air."**

**"You didn't tell me."**

**Gwaine shrugs. "You were busy."**

**Somehow Arthur doesn't see this as an excuse.**

**"Well, I was** _**looking** _ **for him."**

**"And now you've found him, haven't you?"**

**Arthur remains unamused.**

**"Listen," He says, shifting half a step closer and dropping his voice, "Do you have any idea how fragile Merlin is right now? He barely even communicates- What were you thinking, taking him outside- who know what might've happened? Seriously, it's irresponsible, Gwaine. I'm disappointed. As his friend, you should know better."**

**Gwaine adjusts his gloves, cooly. "So. You're just going to keep him locked up in the castle forever, then?"**

**Arthur snaps. "Don't be an idiot, Gwaine, I'm not locking him up, I'm protecting him!"**

**Gwaine stares back, unruffled.**

**"Gwaine!" Leon calls, jogging up to the pair, "Arthur, everything alright?"**

**"Just fine," Arthur answers, though his tone is unconvincing.**

**"Good," Leon claps Gwaine on the shoulder. "We should get back then. Can't leave Percy alone with the brigade for too long now, can we?" He gives a hearty laugh before wheeling around.**

**Gwaine retreats back a few steps, eyes still on Arthur, though his duties as a Knight are pulling him away.**

**"He looks plenty fine to me," he says, nodding toward an outlying slope, and with one final head shake to get the hair from his eyes, he returns to the Knights who are so patiently awaiting their next orders.**

**Arthur turns.**

**There is Merlin, relaxing in the grass on the hill as comfortably as if it were a feather bed, completely oblivious to his surroundings. The stem of a dandelion pokes through his lips and the yellow blossom bobs over his chin like his own personal sun. His arms are slung behind his head as he basks in the warmth.**

**He can't be sure, due to the distance, but Arthur is almost certain that's a smile he sees, tugging at the corners of Merlin's mouth... It's the happiest Arthur's seen Merlin since his return. That shuts Arthur's mouth more effectively than anything else.**

**After that incident, it becomes much more normal to see Merlin wandering the castle of his own accord, or hanging around the Knights, a silent witness as they rough-housed about, or just.**

**Sometimes he sought out the company of others and followed them relentlessly, like a pup. Other times he shut himself in his room and interacted with no one for hours on end.**

**For Arthur, having Merlin back in the castle was the greatest thing in the world, but simultaneously, the hardest.**

**\--**

The first few weeks with his new master was a blur. Looking back, Merlin really didn't remember much except the pain- inside or out, it was in every breath and motion. Losing Freya made  _existing_ practically unbearable, and the hole inside his chest dwarfed everything else.

Practically... but not completely.

Because as it turned out, one of Boan's most favorite things in the world was punishing Merlin. What he said about not having time to 'discipline a slave' turned out to be completely untrue. One small mistake could earn him anything from a smack to a whipping, and he couldn't count the nights he spent strung up in the barn, shoulders and back stinging like fire. Sometimes it felt like every part of his body throbbed with incurable pain, every flake of his skin just barely clinging onto the frame of his bones, like one strong gust of wind could blow him away to dust.

Sometimes Merlin got hit just because Boan thought he looked like he needed a hitting. He would laugh at Merlin who would be nursing his cheek or his ribs or his arm and claim he was 'breaking him in.' The fact that he had become quite adept at ducking while in Arthur's servitude did him little good here because when Boan got it in his mind that Merlin needed to be hit, there was no stopping him until the blow had been delivered.

The first time Merlin managed to duck out of the way of a shoe that had been thrown at his head he had been secretly pleased with himself. He bent down, a smirk slowly forming on his lips- right up until he was blindsided from the right by Boan, who could move faster than any man his size ought to be able. The strike hurt twice as much as any shoe to the head, and he had since learned that it was beneficial to his health to just  _let_  flying projectiles hit him. But even so, he remained quite sore and discolored. It hurt to hold things and it hurt to move and it hurt to breathe. This led to shoddier work, which led to more punishment, creating an endless cycle.

Boan's other favorite thing in the world was not his wife, and it was not his son, both of whom lived in the house with him. No, it was his dog, Zalbot. When Merlin had first learned of its existence he was hopeful to think he might have a potential friend in the creature. He was good with animals, in tune with them both as a sorcerer, and as he liked to think, a good-natured human. He was wrong.

The dog was almost as nasty as Boan himself, perhaps even more so. Boan at least let Merlin near him, like when Merlin was serving him food or polishing his boots or getting hit in the face. Zalbot, despite Merlin's best efforts, growled with an intensity that struck fear in his chest whenever he came within a ten foot radius of the canine. Merlin couldn't have fought off a dog on his best days- now that he was weaker and thinner than ever? He had no chance, and he lacked both the patience and energy to try to befriend it. He resolved to stay as far away as Zalbot wanted him to. He didn't fancy getting on the bad side of those yellowing fangs.

There were fifty other slaves on the farm, as Merlin had learned, but he never saw them much. He mainly was kept in and around the house while the others were outside, though sometimes Boan grabbed him and pulled him along too. Truthfully, he was jealous of the other slaves. At least they got to stay together, at least they got to talk to each other, have friends, maybe a family. Merlin remained apart from them. When at the end of the day they got to retire to their own tiny shelters, away from the house, Merlin only got to go as far as the barn- just a few meters. While the other slaves worked in groups, he worked solo. As impossible as it seemed, Merlin found himself missing the mine. Here, there were no moments of respite, and no time to catch his breath. Here he was much more closely monitored.

Every mistake was noticed, each slip-up glaringly his. Even though he'd never been close to any of the other slaves at the mine, he'd have chopped off his finger for some company now.

For Freya, he'd have chopped off his whole arm.

Merlin began his day before dawn when Boan came to release him from the barn. Boan didn't trust him not to try to make a run for it and he didn't trust him in the house, either; therefore he was chained up at the end of every day. Merlin spent his nights curled up on the hay like the animals. It did provide more comfort and warmth than those mats at the mine, and there was a particularly docile milking cow whom he was rather fond of, and didn't seem to mind when Merlin shared her stall. Luckily, the weather outside was still warm, but he dreaded to think of how he would cope when winter came.

Each day Merlin began by making breakfast for Boan, his wife, Ellyn, and his son, Hadrian, and serving it to them. He was to stand by at watch as they dined in order to get them anything they needed. He was not allowed to eat what they ate, and he was not allowed to eat as they ate. Between serving breakfast and cleaning up from breakfast he was somehow able to find the time stuff some table scraps down his throat. This could be anything from wilting lettuce to all the burnt meat bits. He ate in the corner with his fingers. Both spoons and tables were too good for slaves.

The dog, quite literally, ate better than him. As if Merlin needed another reason to hate Zabolt, the dog received food directly from the table- sometimes from Boan's own plate. To be honest he usually had half a mind to get down on the floor and start begging with him... The worst was that he had no chance to sneak any leftovers from the table himself, as there never was any. Boan and his rapidly expanding belly made sure of that.

Boan always made sure Merlin had enough to keep him working properly, but never enough to satisfy him. He was constantly hungry but that, at least, was nothing new.

Being on a farm also ensured a wide range of chores that Merlin was required to do on a daily basis. His responsibilities were mostly in the house and barn. They ranged from cooking and sewing to taking care of the animals. Occasionally, however, he was out in the field, sowing or planting or harvesting... it was those days he dreaded the most - hours in the hot sun, doing back-breaking work. Whatever he spent the day doing, he could be sure of one thing: by nightfall he was going to be exhausted.

Merlin hated how he could slowly feel himself sinking into this new life. He was awoken with Boan's foot in his ribs and it didn't even phase him anymore, and he  _hated_ it. He hated himself every time he let a shoe or a bowl hit him in the head. When he turned away before a blow came because he  _expected_ it, because he  _knew_  it was coming. It made him sick to his stomach. He was  _human._ This was not how humans were treated, and he didn't want to get used to it.

Perhaps the worst of it was the fact that sometimes, he could barely remember what his own voice sounded like. Boan didn't like it when he talked, and Merlin had learned fairly quickly that in terms of speech, less was more in. Not that Merlin had anyone to talk to anyway. Sometimes he found himself so lonely he would have murmured conversations with the barn animals, but they were never much help- only blinked at him and occasionally swatted him with their tails.

Arthur had always had his moments, but Merlin supposed he never fully realised how -

 _Stop it. Shut up, shut up,_ shut up _!_

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until it hurt. Thinking about Arthur and Camelot was not only painful, it was stupid, too. Arthur wasn't coming for him.

Arthur- was- not- coming.

Merlin was a slave. He would be a slave for the rest of his unfortunate life, and there was no point wasting his time thinking anything different.

\--

**He is a small boy, mousy and slightly out of breath, no more than eight. He has a smart jacket and groomed blonde hair. Almost at once, Arthur recognizes him as apprentice and nephew to the page; he had been seen several times hanging around the hem of his uncle's robes. His nervous face can barely peak over the table top. Arthur, Leon, and several of Camelot's finest, most renowned builders and carpenters had been crowded around it, discussing maps and plans and the state of 'this village' versus the state of 'that village.'**

**Now everyone's attention turns to this pale boy. He licks his lips and begins in a tremor, then suddenly remembering himself, snaps into a clumsy bow, almost smacking his head on the table's wooden edge.**

" **Sire," he addresses Arthur in a squeaky voice, who, in turn, gestures with one gloved hand for him to continue.**

" **I was told to keep the King informed on the state of his- of his old manservant."**

**Arthur's forehead wrinkles. "Yes, go on then."**

" **He's packing, Sire."**

" _ **Packing?**_ **What do you mean, he's** _ **packing?**_ **"**

**The boy** **goes red in the face and draws back, both from the table and in volume.**

" **I mean," he says, hands twisting anxiously, "he's taking all of his things and some food and putting it into a bag?"**

**Arthur sighs. He turns to Leon, irritated, "Can you finish this up?"**

**Leon blanches, but is quick to recover. "Ah, yes. Yes, of course... I'll just...yes."**

**Arthur turns to the boy. "Show me."**

**Merlin is busy rolling up some bread in a cheesecloth when Arthur walks in.**

**Arthur feigns casualty.**

" **Hey Merlin," he greets, sauntering in, feeling overdressed in his crown and cape in front of Merlin who still looks like he was just a victim of a gross mugging.**

**He gets a small wave in response.**

**Arthur clears his throat, "Going somewhere?" he asks, unclipping his cape and draping it over the back of a chair** **.** **Leaning over it, his gaze shifts down towards Merlin's bulging bag resting on the table.**

**Merlin nods without looking up, and Arthur's eyes rake over the contents of his bag. From what he can see, it contains only on outfit or two- the rest is food.**

" **Long trip?"**

**Merlin shrugs.**

**Arthur's lips purse. They had given Merlin parchment, ink, and a quill to carry around in a little bag, so whenever he needed to speak he could write it down instead. For reasons unbeknownst to Arthur, he rarely used them. It drives Arthur absolutely crazy. It was bad enough that he couldn't hear Merlin's words, but now he couldn't read them, either. Sometimes he just wanted to grab Merlin's shoulders and shake them, yelling, "Just write it down!"**

**But he supposed Merlin just didn't want to communicate much. It was just one more thing that made him so, so different from the Merlin that had left Camelot. That was a lad who never shut up.**

**Arthur sighs, looking up at his friend with all the patience he can muster. "Will you at least tell me where you're going?"**

**He's humoring Merlin, of course. He has no intentions of letting him ride off anywhere. For goodness sake he'd only just** _**arrived** _ **.**

**Finally,** **Merlin reaches for the inkwell. He scrawls one barely legible word.**

" **Ealdor." Arthur reads, and his stomach twists** **.** **"To see your mother?"**

**Merlin nods, not looking up from rearranging the contents of his bag.**

**Arthur nods back, chewing on his cheek. Knowing Merlin was not going to like what he had to say next, he constructs his next sentence carefully.**

" **Here's the thing," he begins, splaying his fingers out on the table. "Ealdor is a two day ride... do you really think you're up for such a long journey?"**

**The change in Merlin is** **immediate. His face sets, and his eyes darken. He nods firmly, arms crossed.**

**Arthur presses on anyway. "Merlin, really though, you've just gotten back, you're still ill, you need time to rest, you're not up for..." his words trail off into nothing as he catches the look on Merlin's face.**

" **Alright," he concedes, "how about, instead of you going, I'll send out some Knights to go and fetch her and bring her here?"**

**Merlin holds up four incredulous fingers.**

" **Yes," Arthur acknowledges, waving his arm in exasperation, "I realize that it would take a few extra days, but I really think that-" he cuts off abruptly as Merlin slams his open palm onto the tabletop, making a loud slap that almost makes Arthur jump. Since arriving Merlin had been nothing but quiet and complacent; closed off. This is the most aggressive Merlin's been since his return, and it takes Arthur by surprise.**

**He looks up, and their eyes meet. Merlin shakes his head, slowly.**

" **I'm not going to be able to stop you, am I?" Arthur asks after a pause.**

**Of course, physically, Arthur could. Merlin was never able to best him in a contest of pure strength, and in his current condition there was no question. A fifty pound weight could have stopped him.**

**But Arthur knows that restraining an abused friend, even if it's for a very good reason, is typically frowned upon.**

**Merlin shakes his head again.**

**Arthur sighs again.**

" **Right. We'll leave first thing tomorrow."**

**Merlin's eyebrows disappear into his hairline.**

**Arthur grins at his surprise.**

" **Come now, Merlin, be reasonable, it's the best I can do considering all the packing I have to do and the work I'll have to get through to clear up the next few days."**

**But Merlin continues to look surprised, and Arthur can't help but chuckle. "You didn't think I was going to let you go alone, did you?"**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6- wow can you believe it? Thanks for sticking with me this long, everyone!
> 
> IMPORTANT STUFF:***Special thanks to Zendog (ff.net) who was prompt and complimentary and helpful and just overall lovely in beta-ing this chapter while Aseptic (also ff.net) was busy, buried under a pile of essays. (I hope those are going well for you!)
> 
> One more thing: This story is rated M. Below is an example of why. Please be warned that this chapter contains materials that some readers might find disturbing.
> 
> Enjoy!

**After half a day's ride, it quickly becomes apparent that a two day journey was going to take them at least four. Riding even the most smoothly-gaited, well-tempered mare in Camelot's stables is obviously taking a toll on the bony skeleton that is Merlin. It is like watching a frail and decrepit old man trying to squeeze into the costume of his youth.**

**Even though Arthur knows Merlin is doing his best to hide** **it;** **he often catches the wince that flashes across his ex-manservant's face every time he goes over a particularly jarring path. When they had first started out on this journey Arthur hadn't been at all worried. Afterall, he and Merlin had gone on countless solo adventures before without any sort of hitch. On the contrary, he'd been excited- quite a change in attitude considering the fact that he had been against the whole thing to start with.**

**But then he really began to think about it... almost a whole week without guards, without meetings and rituals and ceremonies and all the pleasantries that he couldn't stand. Just him and Merlin- like the good old days. Perhaps this would even be healthy for Merlin, give him a chance to connect with someone... that someone being Arthur. It didn't escape his thoughts that just maybe he'd get a bit of insight on what had happened to Merlin during the past four years. Maybe it would help to get some of it off his chest, not that Arthur professed to be much in the "touchy feely" department. And okay, fine. He might have been dying of some sort of sick curiosity. But honestly, how could he not? In Arthur's experience, there was nothing that made men want to share the traumatic pasts more than gathering around a nice campfire. And Arthur had packed extra paper... just in case.**

**Now, however, he is about ready to rip his hair out.**

**The silence is absolutely maddening. It isn't the contented, friendly type either, no. This stillness is thick and heavy like humidity, uncomfortable like a wool blanket in summer and so very stifling. Arthur can hear everything, every** **step of the horse's hooves, every twig snap, and every awkward saddle-shift. It isn't that he's opposed to nature or the silence itself, of course. It's the tension he protests to. To think he used to** _**beg** _ **Merlin to shut up... now he'd give his sword arm to hear his voice.**

**The most maddening part about it is that it's** _**his** _ **fault. After all, he could hardly expect Merlin to break it, could he? But the truth was Arthur doesn't know what to say, or, perhaps more importantly, what** _**not** _ **to say... he doesn't even know what Merlin wants to hear. He's never been as good at reading people as he was with a sword, but sometimes he wishes he was.**

**Too add to the whole situation, he was feeling very out of place. He always did, whenever he was forced to wear someone else's clothes. He was in peasant attire, a disguise for traveling out of Camelot without his guards for protection. True, they had just won the war, but that didn't mean there weren't still people out there who'd like to kill him. He thinks these particular clothes belong to George... they itch. Just like George.**

**They ride on quietly, Arthur leading the way, trying to pick out the smoothest of paths; but it's difficult, for their journey leads deep into the forest. Eventually, Merlin's horse takes a small unprompted jump - more of a very large step, really- over a fallen log and the resulting jar makes Merlin actually grunt in pain. He turns it into a cough easily enough, and the old Arthur, the less attentive and observant man of but a few weeks ago, might have just let it go.**

**But not now. That, he decides, was more than enough for today.**

**He pulls back on the reins and makes a swift dismount. "Merlin," he calls, "let's stop and make camp."**

**He sees Merlin's face fall.**

**"Don't give me that look," he says sternly as he hitches up his stirrups, "I didn't eat before we left and I'm starving."**

**\---**

During the week, Merlin spent most of his time cooped up next to Ellyn, either indoors or following her around town lugging her shopping. He used to prefer this- at least he was in the shade, away from the hot sun and Boan's heavy hand. For a time his muscles were free from the ache and strain of heavy physical labor as he was sewing or cleaning or dusting...

After all, Ellyn never hit him- and even if she did, he doubted any blow from her small frame and thin arms would sting very much. Not compared to what he got from her husband, anyway.

But very soon, he hated her company- despised it more than being with Boan and Zabolt together. He hated the days he had to spend at her side. He detested her, and he detested being within a meter of her foul mouth.

The difference was... she  _talked_ to him. And somehow, that was much, much worse. Well, she would talk  _at_  him which was almost the same thing. At first, he didn't mind it... he had been talking to barn animals for the past few weeks, but they weren't very good company. To have a voice talk to him when it wasn't barking orders... it was wonderful. He was a man dying of thirst and her words were a poisoned well.

He was darning when it first happened. Despite his time in the castle he'd had minimum practice with sewing as it was usually reserved for the women and ladies in waiting. He'd patched the odd ceremonial shirt when the need arose, but his skill in at area remained very incomplete. Having pricked his thumb (for the third time) while trying to navigate the heel of one of Boan's disgusting socks, his fingers were stuffed in his mouth, sucking on the blood that beaded from the pin-point.

While nursing his hand, socks temporarily abandoned in his lap, Ellyn leaned over from the chair next to his to examine the work. She'd taken one scathing look before turning her cold eyes to Merlin's.

"It's a beautiful day outside," she said clearly, "Camelot must look stunning. It always does, in the spring."

And as Merlin's mouth fell open, she went back to her own needle… just like that.

His brain came to a screeching halt. His heart skipped a beat, and then went into double time.

How she had found out that he was from Camelot he knew not, but that didn't make the comment hurt any less.

Camelot... he hadn't let himself think of Camelot since he first came to this godforsaken place, but now the images came unbidden.

Damn, she was right. Camelot was gorgeous in the spring, with the trees green, or laden with blossoms, stretching out their limbs in the sun. He could see the palace gamekeepers puttering around the castle grounds, helping the flower's bright faces peek from the earth.

The Knights would be taking advantage of warm weather like this. They'd be out by the training fields, maybe for the first time all spring, challenging each other at swords and archery.

Every spring Gwaine always managed to corner Arthur into a duel of ridiculous odds: three on one, with Gwaine, Percy, and Leon all ganging up against Arthur. They were constantly pushing him, stacking the odds against him, waiting to see how far they had to press before they could break him. They'd yet to succeed. Partly, Merlin thought, because they didn't want to. Arthur's skills with a sword were legendary, and to see him fail would have been something of a disappointment. Besides, is there really any glory in beating a man three on one?

They'd dance around, taking turns attacking him, egging each other on with insults. Merlin would stand by the fence and watch, laughing until his sides hurt.

His heart ached.

He had to struggle to keep his breathing even, struggle not to panic.

He missed home so much.

' _Stop it_.' he told himself. He dug the needle purposefully into his hand now, using the physical pain to keep his chest from collapsing. ' _Stop it and shut up. You are home. This is home now_.'

It was too painful to think that he might never go back.

He used to  _long_  for someone,  _anyone_  to talk to him... but every time Ellyn opened her mouth he begged for silence.

And at first he granted her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she really was trying to connect with him. Maybe she really wanted a friend too, and she only happened to throw out a crippling comment by horrible coincidence.

But the comments only got worse. Sometimes they rendered him almost unable to breathe.

Once while hauling a pot of water, he'd spilled nearly half of it, sending it seeping into the floorboards.

He'd tensed up, hunched his shoulders. He'd expected a slap, a yell, a blow... but the words that came next were far worse than any strike.

Her eyes swept over the damage in a detached manner.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" she asked quietly, "about your little slave friend. She was so lovely."

It brought Freya's radiant smile into the dark of his mind like a glinting knife. For the first time since arriving he'd had to blink back tears; for once not fighting off aching numbness, but actual horrible pain.

It was a few moments before he'd been able move, his fingers unclenching from the fist they had formed on their own.

What's more, was that Merlin quickly realized that he had no name here. They knew what it was- knew, because he had, at one point, told them it, much to his regret the next day.

But here he was just called 'Slave.'

"Slave, come here."

"Slave, do this."

" _Slave,_  hurry up."

Day in and day out, until one day he woke up and realized it had been months since anyone had ever said his name out loud. Not since-

It was so bad, that some nights found him curled up on his small pile of hay, fingers stuffed into his ears, whispering to himself over and over and over, "My name is Merlin, my name is Merlin, my name is Merlin..." until sleep took him.

**\---**

**That morning, Arthur awakes to the smell of cooking breakfast and sizzling bacon. He almost forgets he is in the heart of the forest until he opens his eyes and finds himself staring at a stretch of pale ankle peeking out of its trouser leg. Merlin's ankle, to be exact. He was perched on an overturned log that was nestled quite comfortably behind Arthur's head like nature's own headboard.**

**His gaze swivels to where Merlin is jiggling a pan over the flames, currents of steam gently lifting and twisting away. Arthur's heavy eyelids drift shut once more. The fire is nice and warm, and the scent of bacon urges him to go nowhere fast. They have a long day of riding ahead of them and he wants to get all the rest he can.**

**Then as suddenly as if someone had tossed cold water on him, he sits up, eyes jumping open once more. He twists, looking back at that pale ankle.**

**"Merlin!" he yells loudly, and reaching out without so much as a warning, grabs Merlin's trouser leg and yanks it halfway up his calf. Merlin instantly tries to pull away but Arthur's hand snakes out and grasps his leg tightly. Splattered over his leg are milky-white wounds: hard and raised puncture wounds, old and scarred over. They twist over his flesh, forming a perfect bite mark.**

**"Merlin!" Arthur cries again as he finally manages to yank his foot away from Arthur's stunned hands. "You got attacked by a dog!" It wasn't a question. Arthur would recognise dog bites anywhere; they have more than their share of wild packs of them near Camelot.**

**That is it. The straw that broke the camel's back. Arthur can handle the whip scars and the malnutrition and even the missing tongue. He realises that Merlin is traumatized. He understands that Merlin doesn't want to talk about it. He truly does know that it isn't really his place to ask, even if he is** _**dying** _ **of curiosity. But this is just one scar too many.**

**"What happened?" He asks as Merlin hastily tugs his trouser leg down. As if putting it out of sight might make Arthur forget altogether. He glances up at Arthur, who was staring at him, eyes wide and hands out, clearly stunned and hoping for some sort of explanation.**

**Merlin sighs.**

**Left hand out flat, palm up. His right hand runs a little figure across it.**

**Arthur, who is just beginning to get over his shock, sits next to Merlin on the log, taking in this information.**

**"Tried to run, huh?" he asks, clasping his hands in his lap.**

**Merlin nods, and Arthur nods with him, staring into the fire.**

**There's a pause. Then Arthur turns with a sudden thought. "Is that how...?" he gestures to his mouth.**

**Making a face, Merlin shakes his head, and Arthur nods, once more.**

**Another pause.**

**"Well, Merlin," he says finally, "I can't say I'm surprised. You were always shit at running."**

**Merlin bumps his shoulder into Arthur's.**

**Arthur bumps his back.**

**And just like that, for the moment at least, things are okay.**

**\---**

Summertime now, and even though he was inside and shaded, he could feel the heat crawling through his clothes and moistening his skin. His arms and shoulders ached in protest against his repetitive actions. He was almost done with the floor, having scrubbed everything from the wall to the fireplace and now he had only one small section in front of the door to complete.

Unlike sewing, Merlin had got plenty of practice at this at the castle. It had taken him the better part of the afternoon, but he had to admit, the floor looked good. He hated to feel proud (or any kind of positive emotion for that matter) toward slave work, but he couldn't help himself. He could practically see his reflection in the once-filthy floorboards. He'd done a damn good job. Besides, the residents of the house had vacated so he could scrub, leaving him alone for several hours. So, all in all, it hadn't been such a terrible day.

Sitting back on his heels and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked up just in time to see Boan, a bucket clutched in his thick hands, standing in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the floor as the door swung open with a loud bang.

He was covered head to foot in dirt.

Before Merlin could so much as draw a breath he was halfway across the kitchen.

His deliberately heavy footsteps sent clods of muck scattering every which way across the once shining surface. Muddy footprints were left in his wake.

Hot fire sprang up in Merlin's chest. Half a day's work down the bloody drain, that's what this was. Not enough that they'd waste his whole life, his goddamn afternoon had to be shot to hell too.

His grip tightened almost painfully around the horsehair brush. How he would have loved to simply take aim and throw it as hard as he could... his arm tingled at the thought.

But Boan, having slammed his bucket on the table and shot Merlin a nasty grin that made Merlin's stomach twist angrily, was already out the door again.

Merlin tossed the brush down in disgust. He'd have to start all over again- sweep out the big clumps Boan had sent everywhere with his stupidly large feet. Bloody hell, he had been nearly done and now this would take him another two bloody hours and his shoulders were already hot and sore.

Rubbing his hands in frustration over his face, with gritted teeth he glared at the offending bucket. Whatever was in there had to be something bloody important -

Merlin did a double take. His anger drained away as quickly as it had come.

Blueberries.

That's what was in the bucket- dark blue and plump.

His stomach growled. His mouth watered. He hadn't had blueberries in over a year. He couldn't remember wanting to eat anything so badly his entire life. He could already taste them - sweet and cool on his tongue, filling his never endingly empty stomach.

 _'Bad idea, Merlin_ ,' he told himself; but he was already standing.

 _'Don't do it._ ' his hips bumped the table edge.

 _'You're going to get the shit beaten out of you._ ' His hands were reaching forward even though he tried to stop them.

 _'You're going to regret this_ ,'

' _I don't care_!'

Nothing in living memory had ever tasted so good. Boan could reach in his mouth and pull out his liver and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to bring himself to regret this decision.

He fell on them, eating them by the handful and the bursts of flavour in his mouth were past heavenly. Sweet, tangy and juicy. He was glad- glad he had done this even if he only got to eat a few. Just to have this moment, this small measure of happiness, even if his heart was pounding double time in his chest, even if he got caught, even if-

Footsteps.

He wiped his hands quickly on his trousers, choking down the food already in his mouth and darted back to where he was cleaning before. With his eyes intently on the ground, he stuffed his hands into the soapy water and slapped it onto the floor before scrubbing vigorously.

He kept his head down as he heard clomping of footsteps change from the muffled thud of ground outside to the sharp click of the floorboards.

He kept his head down, but watched anxiously through his lashes as the boots he knew belonged to Boan walked themselves across the floor. They stopped at the table. They hesitated. Merlin was watching so intently he had to remind his arm to keep working. The swish of bristle against floor and the pounding of his own heart in his ears were the only noises that filled the foreboding silence.

The boots shifted towards him. "Slave!" he barked.

Merlin's blood froze in his veins. While only a second ago he was high on defiance, right now he was very much wishing to not receive a beating.

And the day had started out so well, too.

"Slave! Come here." Merlin went with no shortage of reluctance. He was sure his paranoia must be written all over his face; he'd always been a crap liar. He was never sure what to do with his arms. Should he cross them? Was that too suspicious? Letting them hang just seemed so unnatural... Shit, what did he normally do with them?

But Boan was wholly unconcerned with the state of his arms. "Slave," he growled, one meaty palm massaging his fist, "What happened here?" he tilted his head toward the bucket.

Merlin stayed silent. There was no  _possible_  correct answer here. Besides, he was hesitant to open his mouth. No doubt his tongue was stained purple.

This didn't seem to please Boan either. " _Slave_ ," he yelled, now with an accompanying bang on the tabletop that, to his chagrin, made Merlin start. The angry man rounded nearer, putting his great unfortunate face closer to Merlin's.

"Open your mouth, slave." He said, now quiet.

Merlin's stomach turned over. For a moment he struggled- would it really be wise to incriminate himself? But it came down to this: if he didn't open his mouth... Boan would no doubt open it for him.

His trembling lips parted only slightly, barely enough to get a few words out. Then he figured, why drag it out? And let his jaw fall open.

Immediately, there were two slams- Boan's hand into the side of his face, and his face into the table. Merlin cried out as his head bounced on the surface, instinctively struggling but Boan had a firm grip on his hair, pressing his face into table. It made thrashing around much more painful. He stilled instantly, doing his best to stay calm and sucking in shaky breaths of air through pursed lips. Boan lowered his head, his foul breath hot in Merlin's ear.

"You filthy, thieving, piece of shit." His hand twisted slightly and the side of Merlin's nose began to press into the wood.

Merlin tasted blood. He must have bitten his cheek when his head went down. The hard surface rubbed unforgivingly on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"Stealing from me? After everything I've so generously provided for you?"

"By the looks of it, stealing food from you, Boan, can only help you out."

Unlike the blueberries, Merlin instantly regretted this. The words flew from his mouth before he even knew he had said them. He didn't know what possessed him to say it. Perhaps the new lifestyle change had sucked away what was left of his self-preservation. Perhaps that last slam on the table knocked out the last of his good sense. Either way, if he hadn't been in a lot of trouble before... he certainly was now.

Boan howled in rage. Merlin's head was lifted up and then slammed back down again. He winced at the impact, a soft grunt slipping through his lips. The right side of his face would have a lovely bruise tomorrow.

Later that night, when his aching wrists were let down from the ceiling, and his body slumped forward onto the hay, his back slashed and bloody, his body weak and sore, he was left, not alone, but with Boan's parting words ringing in his ears.

"Steal from me again, Slave, and I'll cut off your hands."

Merlin managed a small smile into the straw. It was an empty, empty threat. Boan would never cut off his hands. He'd have no one to clean.

**\---**

**On the third day of their travels, Arthur takes over the cooking. This, however, does not happen without a great deal of protest from Merlin, and a fair amount of hand-slapping from Arthur. Merlin isn't keen to let Arthur anywhere near his cooking pot, but Arthur has been very stubborn about it, ignoring all of Merlin's** _**exasperated** _ **glances and dramatic sighs.**

**What he is really upset about, Arthur figures, was not the fact that he isn't allowed to boil his own potatoes, but that he is no longer contributing equally. They both know that Arthur isn't the reason that their travel time was nearly going** _**double** _ **and now that Arthur has stripped him of his only responsibility... Well he can understand why Merlin is feeling like dead weight... And if he ever knew Merlin, he knew that he hated feeling useless. Arthur sympathizes. He, also, hates the feeling.**

**The only thing is that he doesn't much care about Merlin's desire to contribute at the moment. He cannot, in good conscience, watch Merlin barely able to stumble through shaky dismounts with wobbly knees day after day, and then sit back, relax and watch him cook. So today, Arthur finally puts his foot down. You'd have thought Merlin would be more grateful...**

**Yet, he seems to have finally adjusted to the idea... at the moment he is propped against a tree trunk, head nodding rhythmically onto his chest as he struggles to stay awake. The sun has barely begun to set, but each new day never fails to exhaust Merlin.**

**Arthur turns back to the steaming pot to stir, a smile playing about his lips. To be perfectly honest, he can't see why Merlin always used to complain about the cooking. It is turning out, in Arthur's opinion, to be very easy. He hasn't done much cooking before- alright, any cooking before, and he had been expecting quite a challenge, but to his pleasant surprise, it doesn't seem to be one.**

**He'd fetched some water, put it over the fire and then started tossing in whatever food they had in their packs. A bit of this, a lot of that, and pinch of whatever that was... And there you have it- stew. Arthur doesn't like to compliment himself (okay, yeah he does but he thought in this case he damn well deserved it) but it smelled delicious.**

**If only the Knights could see him now... Crouching over a cooking pot, ladle in hand...no doubt they'd have a laugh over it. They'd teased him in the past, saying how if Merlin ever got fed up and quit and Arthur had to get his own food he'd starve before he figured out how to boil water. Then of course, Merlin went missing and everyone thought he'd died a gruesome death at the hands of criminals and the joke stopped being very funny.**

**Only, Arthur hadn't starved, obviously, though he held out so long that he might have... He'd refused George, refused all the new faces that kept popping up in his chamber week after week. He didn't have any intention of getting a new servant until Merlin quit or died, and since he was convinced that neither had taken place...**

**Breakfast to his room was halted. Instead, he ventured down to the kitchens to get it himself. His chambers became a horrible stinking mess, which he refused to be let clean; despite the most logical and pointed arguments from Morgana that living in filth would hardly bring Merlin back.**

**It was his father that finally forced George on his son after about a month or so. He had to actually order Arthur to let George serve him- to Arthur's great annoyance. Straightaway he'd done everything in his power to make sure George knew that his position was** _**temporary only** _ **. George had only answered with an "Of course, sire," and offered him a smile and an array of breakfast foods.**

**An offer he'd repeated every day for the next four years.**

**And then there was that** _**unfortunate** _ **incident with that one Knight...**

**It was at least their tenth search party. Merlin had been missing over two months. At this point, every man that could be spared from the barracks was being organized into groups and sent out to the woods.**

**They were getting more and more systematic, less frantic and more careful. People- not Arthur, but some people- began to think they were looking not so much for a person but for a body.**

**Gwaine, Percy, Leon and Elyan all led their own patrols; each of which covered different sections of Camelot.**

**Leon was just finishing debriefing everyone on their instructions when Arthur entered the hall, joined the back of the group, sword in sheath, ready to go.**

**"-Western border. Then we'll circle back around and meet up in Sir Elyan's sector. Any questions?"**

**"Yeah, I've got one," drawled a voice, "How come we're wasting so much time and energy looking for a bloody** _**servant** _ **? Can't Prince Arthur just get a new one? Hell, I've got five, he can have one if that means I don't have to waste another day in the woods looking for someone who's** _**clearly** _ **long gone."**

**There were several nods and murmurs running throughout the room that indicated that he wasn't the only one who thought this way. Leon opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur beat him to it.**

**"I'll handle this one, if you don't mind, Sir Leon," he said coolly as every head turned toward him. He watched the colour** **drain from the Knight's face with some satisfaction.**

**"Merlin is not only a great and loyal servant... but a great and loyal friend. Although he was not born in Camelot, he loves it like his home. He has been willing to die for Camelot... and for me- a fact which he has proved over and over again. There is** _**nothing** _ **he isn't willing to do for his friends. He would** _**never** _ **leave anyone behind, or turn his back on** _**anyone** _ **in need, and we're not going to do that to him now. If anyone is having a** _**problem** _ **performing their duties as a Knight, they can turn in their armour and their capes right now,** _**understood** _ **?"**

**So perhaps others in the castle thought he had acted childishly- refusing to let his room be cleaned, stubbornly trying to dress himself each morning... And looking back he supposes he could see it that way...**

**But that isn't the way he chooses to remember it. During that time he'd thought only of Merlin and how he'd hate to come back to the castle to find his job had been given away.**

**Arthur would imagine his voice ringing through the hallway, full of irritation, yet somehow still teasing: "What's this? I'm gone for three measly weeks and you already replace me? Can't you put your own shirt on for once, you royal prat?"**

**He'd longed to hear those words... But they were never said- not by Merlin, not by anyone.**

**George did a damn good job as his manservant, but they were never anything closer than prince and servant. It would have somehow seemed an insult to Merlin's memory to become as friendly with the next servant as he had with Merlin; because the simple fact was Merlin could not be replaced. And even though physically, George could wear a blue neckerchief and stand where Merlin stood... it just wasn't the same starting each day without that overly chipper "Rise and shine!" But Arthur had got used to his absence, as did the rest of the castle... But he never forgot. He never enjoyed, and he never replaced.**

**And so, despite everything that had happened, he is proud of his damn soup, and considers it an accomplishment.**

**With one final tap of the ladle against the rim, he reaches for their bowls and fills them up generously.**

**"Merlin," he calls, fitting the bowl directly into his hands. He watches as Merlin digs in. Spoon transfers food to his eager mouth and it goes down without so much as a hitch. Invigorated by Merlin's approval of the meal, he is quick to try his own bowl... and nearly spits it back out. Gagging, he reaches for his canteen takes several large gulps. He should not have put so much confidence in his cooking skills. What he made turned out to be little more than hot tasteless mush- except for the meat. The meat had been reduced to disgustingly hard and chewy cubes.**

**Arthur lets a large unappetizing spoonful of the stuff splash back down into its bowl. There is no way he would be able to manage more than a few bites... So much for a filling dinner...**

**He chances a dubious glance at Merlin, but he's completely absorbed, eating with as much enthusiasm as any other meal, which for Merlin is quite a lot.**

**Arthur's eyebrows furrow. Surely... surely Merlin could not still be that hungry? To be starving to such a degree that even this disgusting attempt at domesticity tasted good?**

**Merlin... had a tendency to eat himself sick since he had returned. He would literally consume everything he could get his hands on. It was part of the reason why Arthur had to become so careful with his food. He knew all about Merlin's habits of hanging about the kitchens, hoping for scraps...and he knew that Gwaine could never say no to those big, sad, blue eyes when Merlin was asking him to sneak out a plate of biscuits.**

**But in the past few days, regular meals had done him wonders. He'd already started using his silverware again- something Arthur assumed that he'd got pretty used to doing without.**

**So why was he still so hungry that overdone mush tasted good? Perhaps Merlin wasn't adjusting as well as Arthur had thought. Maybe his caretaking skills left a little to be desired...**

**"Merlin," he begins, his face scrunching as he sets his dinner aside, "how can you** _**eat** _ **that..." he gestures toward the bowl in Merlin's hands."I mean can't you even** _**taste** _ **it?"**

**Merlin glances up with a contemplative look on his face. He holds out his hand flat, and tilts it back in forth in a so-so motion.**

**Arthur's eyebrows rise. "Are you telling me you can't** _**taste** _ **things anymore?" he asks, straightening up a bit.**

**Merlin holds his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart, shrugging his shoulders simultaneously.**

**"What? Because of your tongue?"**

**Merlin nods, and Arthur winces. "I'm sorry," he says seriously, "that...that is terrible."**

**It's just one more thing to digest about Merlin. It really is a horrible fate... Arthur didn't know what he'd do if suddenly couldn't taste...he couldn't think of anyone less deserving of such a dull, horrible punishment.**

**He settles back down, one hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. Then, suddenly remembering Merlin's first meal in Camelot, draws breath once more. "Merlin, how do you feel about... Asparagus?"**

**Merlin makes a face and shakes his head. Arthur's head tilts back at the force of his laughter.**

**And Merlin, though he can't have known why, joins in.**

**\---**

The weather had once again turned bitter and chilly when, for the first time ever, Merlin was not chained up at night. Boan obviously considered him too fatigued, too weak, or too despondent to make a run for it.

He was wrong on all counts.

It was the spark that rekindled Merlin's determination to escape. Despite the fact that he continually struggled to accept that his was his present and future (his past better off being forgotten) he couldn't not try. Not when they left the door wide open for him.

He stayed up late, until he was sure everyone was asleep. With his eyes wide open he lay still, gathering his courage, feeling the fear, the adrenaline pump through his veins. And then, after a short moment of deliberation, he cracked open the door... and just walked out.

It was so amazingly simple, after all that build up... there was no lock no guards... if he could just get far enough away from this horrible place he'd be free! He was walking on air...

For about ten yards. That's when the barking started- loud, frantic and heart-shattering. As soon as Merlin saw the black shape lunge from the house doorstep, he snapped himself around, a complete turnabout without so much as breaking a stride. But even so, he wasn't able to get the barn door closed fast enough.

Merlin rammed his shoulder against it, but the dog managed to get caught between the door and the frame, claws scrabbling against the dirt floor for leverage, foaming spittle dripping from its snarling lips. It didn't stop Zabolt; it only seemed to piss him off. Merlin considered giving him a kick, but he didn't relish putting any limb of his body near those snapping teeth.

Thrashing and twisting madly, Zabolt forced his way inside, in spite of Merlin who was bracing himself against the door as the cows started to low in fright. As soon as Zabolt's matted tail crossed the threshold, he launched itself at Merlin, and latched onto his ankle. Teeth sharp as knives seemed to dig straight through to his bones, his skin no more than soft butter.

The growling, barking, lowing, and Merlin's resulting screams were more than enough to bring Boan in from the house. He was more than happy to sit back and laugh as Merlin rolled around the blood-spattered ground; gasping in pain, tears cleaning trails off dirty cheeks, desperately trying to pry Zabolt's jaws from around his leg. He'd limped for weeks after. Of course that didn't stop Boan from doling out his own punishment.

**\---**

**Day four. Not as much progress is made this day as Arthur, and no doubt Merlin, would have liked, but their travels are cut short due to an unexpected bout of rain. Now they are huddled up together under a lucky chunk of rock that jettisoned out from a hillside over a convenient spit of dry land.**

**It had been a cold dinner for them both (bread and cheese) as any attempts to start a fire and cook in this downpour would have been nothing short of foolhardy. Under their little shelter there is no room to even sit up, so they lay, side by side, in an attempt to ward off both the rain and accompanying chill that comes with it.**

**Merlin rolls onto his side, turning to look out toward the sheets of rain. Pursing his lips, he gives a deep sigh and Arthur can** _**feel** _ **the annoyance coming off of him in waves. Merlin just wants to get home so badly... He puts what he hopes is a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder.**

**"We'll get there." he says solemnly, "I promise." and rolls onto his side too, so they lay face to face. He doesn't really have anything else to say, but now Merlin is gazing at him quite expectantly, and Arthur finds himself scrambling for something more, something motivational, like he would say to his Knights before a battle.**

**"I-I've been spending a lot of time with Gaius lately." He doesn't really plan on saying this- it just sort of slips out, but it does seem to be the thing to lighten Merlin's spirit. His eyebrows lift in curiosity, an invitation to go on.**

**"Yeah," Arthur gives a weak grin, "well I mean, as much time as I can spare... we've been trying to track down those runes on your collar... did you know Gaius has about a** _**hundred** _ **books on just... Magic-y language-y...** _**things** _ **?"**

**Merlin's smirk tells him yes.**

**"Course you did..." he can't help his grin. "Anyway, we've been looking through them constantly... Well. He's been looking through them. I haven't been much help I'm afraid. Apparently, I 'couldn't tell the front end of a griffin from the back.'" his bitter tone makes it obvious that he's quoting Gaius's direct words.**

**"But I have been trying..." he continues, "We haven't found anything yet... But we're going to keep** **on looking** **." he gives a small smile.**

**Merlin stares back, silent as always, not smiling, not frowning just... Blank.**

**Arthur's heart rate speeds up, though he's not sure why. It's** _**eerie,** _ **Merlin staring at him like that.**

**"I...I know you've been in that collar for- for a long time..." he swallows, "but... You're not going be in it much longer... I promise you."**

**Almost of their own accord, two of his chilled fingers trail up Merlin's shirt, his shoulder** **;** **trace over that collar and rest on the warmth of his cheek.**

**Fire burns through Arthur's veins. Alarm bells ring in his head.**

**He ignores them.**

**He watches Merlin's Adam's apple bob up and down.**

**When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse. "I- you've been through so much... but... You're home now. Everything's going to be fine." His mouth keeps moving, but he's not one hundred percent sure of what he's saying because, somehow, his face has drifted closer to Merlin's- too close, inappropriately close, and it's highly distracting. He's sure Merlin must be able to hear his heart pounding away in his chest. His face looks very wary, and so very, very sad.**

**His eyes bore into Arthur- bore into his very soul.**

**So little air separates them...just a few** **centimeters** **and their lips could touch... and suddenly Arthur is staring at the back of Merlin's head.**

**He's rolled over.**

**Arthur's heart stutters to a stop. His hand falls awkwardly back to his side as he rolls over too, looking back out at the rain.**

**'** _**What** _ _**are you playing at Arthur...** _ **' he thinks to himself. '** _**Get yourself together.** _ **'**

**Even so, his stomach drops like a stone, and he can feel rejection like a scar in his chest.**

**\---**

During the winter months, Merlin was permitted to sleep inside the house. Not, of course, because of any empathy in his direction. And certainly not because for the past week Boan had found him blue-lipped, shivering, and covered in a crispy layer of frost on his hay pile. He was permitted to stay in the house during the coldest nights only so that he would be able to tend the fire as the residents slept, making it nice and warm for when they awoke.

Despite his new spot in front of the fire, he found himself quite chilly. In fact, he was freezing, and no amount of blankets or flame could stop him from shaking.

He found out more about Ellyn in front of that fire than he ever wanted to know, and that was almost enough to make him miss the barn.

It was the same thing every night, but knowing what was coming did not make it any easier to stomach.

First there was murmuring, low voices speaking, Boan's and Ellyn's too low for Merlin to hear. But soon they turned fierce- one voice hot and angry, the other small, scared, and protesting.

Merlin curled up into himself. He brought his knees up to his chest and stuffed his fingers into his ears because he knew exactly what was coming next. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. Sometimes... sometimes he wished he couldn't hear at all. Then he wouldn't know what Ellyn's voice sounded like when it was begging.

But it always cut off quickly once the hitting started. The vicious sounds of open handed smacks; and the small defenseless gasps that always came after seemed to cut off the air to Merlin's lungs. They filled the house more fully than anything so dark and secret had a right to. Merlin, who lay curled up no more than a few yards from the whole ordeal, had a front row seat to everything he would have preferred not to know about.

Slowly, as he listened, his insides dissolved into ice water that chilled him to the core. He knew what was coming next, and it made his stomach churn. He would have liked to hum to himself- talk, sing, bang pots together, anything to drown out the noise... but his instincts told him to be as quiet as possible. So he folded into himself; made his whole body small- as small as a mindless bug crawling across the floor, plugged his ears, and pretended he was elsewhere.

He pretended he couldn't hear the angry voice melting into a cacophony of grunts. He pretended he couldn't hear the muffled rustling, the endless writhing. And when that was over, with one final nauseating groan, the soft sniffling, the uneven breathing... almost undetectable as crying; except by those who've cried like that before.

Even as he lay, a captive audience, trapped on all sides by all senses, his heart bleed for her. He knew, in spite of everything, he'd help her. Stop it, if he could.

After that first night, no matter how hard Merlin tried, he could never hate Ellyn in the same way again. After all, in a way, she was just as trapped as he was.

**\---**

**Arthur could tell that they were getting close. Not because he knows where he's going, and not because he remembers any landmarks from that one visit oh so many years ago. It's because every five minutes Merlin starts shooting these silly smiles over his shoulder to Arthur... And the closer they get, the sillier the smiles become.**

**Honestly, his enthusiasm is a little childish... but at the same time, extremely infectious. So much so, in fact, that Arthur is soon grinning stupidly to himself even though he doesn't have a single thing to look forward to in Ealdor.**

**...Except maybe Merlin's face, when he finally sees his mother.**

**He's feeling more and more confident about the trip, really. I mean Merlin had opened up to him a bit, hadn't he? Arthur had found out about the ankle... he** **got** **him to not cook... that was progress, right?**

**The open air, the forest, time away from all those prying people at the castle... he is convinced that it was good for Merlin... not to mention himself. Sometimes he felt like all the duties of being King were absolutely crushing him.**

**He doesn't fancy everything that'll be waiting for him on his return- paperwork, delayed meetings back to back... everyone waiting on his final word, his official decisions.**

**He hadn't got clearance for this long of a trip. Two days there, two days back... no one had anticipated eight days of total traveling time. It was frustrating at first** **;** **knowing all that work was just piling up... but at the moment he doesn't mind too much.**

**Because... being with Merlin has been worth every second.**

**Ahead of him, Merlin makes an excited noise, and without looking back he urges his horse into a trot, and then a canter.**

**Laughing, Arthur quickly follows.**

**It's here** **;** **it must be, past the edge of these last trees. He's so excited for Merlin, so excited to see his face alight with the joy only loved ones can bring.**

**And he's laughing, laughing like he hadn't in ages, and he's not even sure why but all the same it feels wonderful.**

**Just past the edge of the forest, Merlin brings his horse to a sharp stop with Arthur close behind. His face is drained of colour, mouth open, eyes desolate.**

**"Oh..." Arthur gasps, "Merlin..."**

**Where Ealdor** _**should** _ **be, there is nothing more than rubble and scorched earth.**

**\---**

Sometimes, as his second spring in this loathsome place was rolling in, he'd lay down at night, surrounded by his nest of straw and several indifferent cows; and he would stare up at the ceiling with blank eyes and contemplate his future.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that there was never much to contemplate. He had no future. He was only a slave- his future was mapped out for him.

There was no escaping this place- he'd learned that lesson the hard way... several times. When he looked ahead all he could see was this horrible existence, this humiliating lifestyle where he was treated. like. an. animal.

This was his life. He was a slave through and through. He'd live in this damn barn and serve this foul disgusting man and his son, and his sons and their sons.

Until his will broke. Until his mind broke. Until, finally, his body broke.

And then what? When he was too old to lift an axe? When his hands shook too badly to serve them dinner? Would they kill him?

Probably. It would be the kindest act they would ever do for Merlin. Death would be a relief. He had no one: if he died the people who cared wouldn't know and the people who knew wouldn't care. He had nothing: no future, no possessions, no one to care for and no one to care for him.

His only escape was death, and he'd be glad when it came.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I won't keep you, but first: A huge Thank you goes out to Nooka who so very very kindly beta'd this chapter for me. THANK YOU!  
> And another Thank You goes out to Aseptic, who started beta-ing, but was unable to finish. (Both of these lovely people originate from fanfiction.net. Go check them out. Go love them.)
> 
> And a third thank you goes out to all of you! Thank you for showing up and (presumably) reading!

 

**For a few moments there is only silence. The kind of silence that saturates Arthur's skin and chills his heart- the kind not even the wind dares break.**

**Even though Arthur knows how the village had once looked, he could not recreate it in his mind. Where the streets and buildings had been was impossible to tell as rubble overlaid the earth like a thick coating of snow. Charred and broken wood was everywhere, all sharp angles, sticking out like bones. Scraps of fabric, a blackened pot... evidence that this place had once been called home was scattered at their feet. Half of a burned house frame still stood stubbornly in the midst of the debris, a skeleton of what it used to be.**

**Arthur's stomach turns over.**

**Shock keeps them both in its frosted fingers, but not for long. Merlin jumps from his horse. He takes two stumbling steps forward into his new, refurbished village.**

**Arthur, from where he sits speechlessly on his own horse, can see his friend shaking. Merlin's unsteady hands rise to cover his mouth, his face, and finally, grip his hair like he might just rip himself in two.**

**Arthur, overcoming the stiffness of shock, scrambles down.**

**"Merlin." His horror-struck wh** **isper is the only sound that breaks the eerie silence. He stretches out his hand to touch Merlin's shoulder. Even though this is... was Merlin's home, Arthur doesn't want to stay. He has a sudden desire to jump back on their horses and run as fast as they can in the other direction. It's his first instinct to get Merlin as far from this horror and devastation as he can, away, where he can't see such terrible things.**

**But before** **his** **hand can so much as brush Merlin's shirt** **, he l** **ets out a breathy noise trapped between a sob and a gasp, and takes off. Arthur is left to play catch up.**

**Merlin's childhood crunches beneath his feet as he runs. He'd been born somewhere, underneath all this rubble... eaten and slept and worked and lived, perhaps in the very space Arthur was running through now.**

**Not only were the buildings that had made this village his home gone, but more importantly, so were the people. In a town this small, everyone knew everyone. Friends, neighbors, people you've grown up knowing. Smiling faces that tell you that you're home, with your own warm bed, hot meals, and the satisfaction of knowing that, yes, this is where you belong- that you are amongst people who love you and wish good things for you. This house, this town, these things are** _**yours** _ **. And now that was gone for Merlin. He no longer has a home.**

**Arthur protests to this line of thought. Without question, Merlin** _**does** _ **have a home. His home was in Camelot, in the castle with Arthur, where he belonged, of** _**course** _ **. But the churning sickness in his stomach told him it wasn't quite the same.**

**This place is so devastatingly empty, and quiet as a grave. On Arthur's last visit, it had been brimming with love and laughter and labour; children and mothers and fathers.**

**It hadn't been fancy and it hadn't been much, but it had been healthy. It had been** _**alive** _ **. It had been full of the humble, simple love of a close knit community. One where everyone pitched in and everyone looked out for each other, and everyone worked hard. Everyone shared joys... and losses.**

**And now it was gone.**

**His mother... his** _**mother** _ **.**

**With little to distract him, Merlin reaches the far side of the village easily, and falls to his knees in front of a large, square, and raised mound of earth, about the size of Camelot's stables.**

**Arthur's stomach clenches in sudden nausea even though he's seen this before.**

**And judging by the look on Merlin's face, he has too.**

**It's** **a mass grave.**

**Merlin is on his hands and knees, his head bent forward; making noises like he's suffocating, shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. More than anything Arthur wants to console him, kneel down next to him and somehow take away the pain. Only a few nights ago Merlin had been laughing by his side in the firelight; now he lays in pieces at Arthur's feet and he stands here like the world's most useless** _**sack** _ **.**

**There's no doubt in his mind that this was done by Morgana's men. Only pillagers who follow the direction of a sorceress would be superstitious enough to** **bury the dead. Though the swirling sickness in his chest, a hot coal of anger burns.**

**Merlin shifts closer to the mound and, with his hands, starts digging, clawing at the earth like the home he once knew was still alive and functioning, just buried deep.**

**"Merlin." Arthur steps forward. His voice is firm, but his touch gentle. "Don't."**

**Merlin whips around, still on his knees, his face unfamiliar, twisted in its anguish. With a grunt, he shoves at Arthur's middle with all his strength. Arthur only stumbles back a step or two, but it hurts all the same.**

**He watches as Merlin rises to his feet and approaches, looking as if he would like to punch Arthur.**

**Arthur thinks he might let him.**

**But that is not what Merlin does. Eyes swimming, fists clenched, he starts making noises, the most haunting grunts, the otherworldly moan of one steeped in agony.**

**It takes a moment before something clicks in Arthur's brain and it hits him... in the absence of paper and ink, Merlin is actually attempting to** _**speak** _ **.**

**He holds out his hands, helpless. "Merlin... Merlin I- I'm sorry... I don't understand..."**

**Merlin stabs one accusing finger at Arthur. "Oo!" And even on this one syllable his voice breaks.**

**His eyes are red and brimming.**

**He points just as angrily to his own head.**

**Arthur.**

**His head.**

**The wreckage.**

**"No!" Arthur protests, taking a step forward, mouth dry, "Merlin- Merlin, I** _**swear** _ **to you I did not know!"**

**Merlin nods obstinately, eyes hard.**

**Arthur feels sick. "No, Merlin, I promise. I** _**promise** _ **you. Ealdor is outside of Camelot's border- I didn't-** _**I swear I had no idea** _ **."**

**Merlin comes forward, seizes Arthur's shoulders, and stares at him with wide eyes and quivering lips.**

**He crumples to the ground. Hands over his face, sobs rack his small body.**

**Arthur kneels. He hesitates, then tugs Merlin to his chest.**

**"I'm sorry," he manages a broken whisper, "I'm so so-"**

**But Merlin pushes him away, turns his back, cries into the dirt of his mother's grave.**

**Art** **hur, heart aching, l** **ets him be.**

**888**

It was late summer, when talk began to kick up like dead leaves. Trouble was stirring, rumours of a great darkness gathering in the east. A terrible, hateful power, born of the old religion, that had but one goal: to take vengeance on those who had once repressed them. To destroy Camelot.

Even Merlin, who spoke to no one and was spoken to by no one, was not deaf to the dark news. More and more often he heard a name he never thought he'd hear again, whispered either in fear or excited anticipation, the one who was going to bring justice to Albion, restore its balance, bring peace, and most importantly _magic_.

_Morgana_.

Branded as both a traitor and a witch, she now vowed to destroy the very place she had once called home. Each time he caught hushed talk of her army, the numbers seemed to double.

And Merlin knew from experience that where Morgana was, Arthur was not far behind. So it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did when Arthur's name was finally tossed out.

Merlin heard almost all of the news through Boan, at dinner. Whether he was complaining about a crop damaging storm or the neighbors (three miles away and still not far enough) Merlin was close at hand, refilling the wine or scooping out second helpings. He usually let such blatherings just wash over him as they only affected him in so much as they affected Boan's temper, but his temper was always so poor that it didn't really matter anyway. He did his work; kept his head down and mouth shut. All three were key to survival here.

But that night, that night something slipped from Boan's lips that pulled Merlin from his own little world.

"...and I  _don't care_!" Boan was saying, "I don't care what King Arthur says, Camelot's soldiers aren't welcome here. They're as good as invaders!" He banged his fist on the table for emphasis. Merlin's chest constricted tightly- suddenly it was very difficult to draw breath.

_King_  Arthur?

Boan kept on, but Merlin didn't hear. He clutched meekly at the wine jug, the colour dripping slowly from his face. Arthur? Camelot?  _Here_?

"The sooner he figures it out, the better. I for one am not going to tolerate-"

"Did you say Camelot?" His tongue moves of its own accord. He hadn't meant to ask, hadn't meant to say anything, but it came out, anyway.

The room went silent. The scraping of chairs and utensils ceased as every head turned to look at Merlin.

"What did you say, slave?" He asked in a low, cold voice. While it managed to send shivers down Merlin's spine, did not manage to shut him up.

"C-Camelot." He continued, unable to shut up, no matter how much he wanted to. "You said Camelot. Are there Camelot forces here?"

At the other end of the table Ellyn gave a nasty cackle. "That's right. He's  _from_  Camelot. Misses his  _home._ Fancy the soldiers are coming for a filthy little  _slave_  like you?"

"Shut up!" Boan roared at her.

"What's going on? Does it have to do with Morgana?"

"How  _dare_  you!"

Standing up from the table, Boan advanced on him, his dinner knife clutched tightly in his right hand, its flat edge still shining with grease from supper.

Backing away, Merlin desperately tried to close his mouth, but it was as if lightning had shot through him at the mention of Arthur's name and he found it difficult to stop himself babbling. "Is she close? Are the Camelot ar-"

But he swallowed the end of his question as Boan drew himself up directly in front of Merlin. His wide girth brushed uncomfortably against Merlin's thin frame. He looked away, face arranged into a tight grimace, ready for his punishment, shrinking back into the wall behind him, wishing he could sink right into it.

But Boan didn't hit him. His sweaty hand grabbed Merlin's cheeks and turned his face toward him. Merlin kept his eyes averted.

"Look at me," he growled in a stinking breath and when Merlin didn't, Boan gave him a rough shake that bounced Merlin's head off the wall. "Look at me!"

Reluctantly, Merlin did.

"You," his voice was low and unsteady in his anger, "you... you shut your mouth. You shut it or I will shut it for you."

There was a glint of silver and a low thunk as the Boan embedded the knife into the wall, only inches from Merlin's left ear.

Merlin nodded, tight lipped.

And leaving the knife there in the wall, Boan returned to his dinner.

Hours later as Merlin tossed and turned sleeplessly, there was still a tugging in his chest, as if someone was trying to sew his heart back into place. He ached. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried to accept his new life, his past wouldn't let him. Why did Camelot have to follow him like this? Why did it have to make it so much harder than it had to be?

Even if Camelot was close by, it wouldn't matter. He'd learned from experience that he couldn't escape from this place. Camelot Knights would have to come right up to Boan's door and knock on it for them to do him any good. All their presence did was make daily life harder, knowing they were so close and yet not close enough.

For the first time ever, Merlin found himself agreeing with Boan. Why couldn't they just go back to Camelot where they belonged?

**888**

**The ride back to Camelot is a lot more quiet than the first half of the journey, even by measure of traveling with a mute companion. Arthur tries several times to coax any sort of reaction out of Merlin, with no luck.**

**His smile does little to veil the desperate edge to his voice each time he tries his hand at a little conversation, whether it be light and joking, or whether he is trying to be heartfelt and comforting. He wants to connect with Merlin by any means necessary. He even relates the experience to his own losses of his mother and his father. It doesn't matter. Merlin never looks up.**

**He doesn't bother to fight Arthur on the cooking anymore, but sits against a tree and stares off into nothing as Arthur slowly and meticulously ruins their supper.**

**Food, on the other hand, seems to finally lose it's appeal to Merlin as he can hardly be bothered to eat it anymore. Arthur would have blamed his own cooking, had he not found out about Merlin's decline in taste. When a bowl finally wound up in Merlin's hands, he'd simply stare at it detachedly, his ravenous appetite suddenly apathetic. He probably wouldn't have bothered to eat at all if Arthur hadn't threatened to pour it down Merlin's unwilling throat.**

**But as bad it as it is to travel by day with this broken, despondent Merlin, it is better than the nights.**

**The sobs always begin as soon as Arthur lays his head down for the night. As quiet as they are, each one seems to echo endless in Arthur's head.**

**The last thing he wants to do is sit there and** _**listen** _ **to them, but his options are quite limited. Plugging his ears, he's discovered, while muffling the noise, did very little to stop the haunting replays from bouncing around in his skull.**

**What's worse is that Merlin refuses to be comforted by words or actions. For three nights now, Arthur had tentatively crawled over to him, ready to offer his hand, his shoulder, his ear. Ready to hold or stroke or pat or... anything. He would have ventured out into the woods and brought Merlin a twelve point buck if he thought it would help.**

**But he is inconsolable. Each time Arthur touches him, he pulls away. One night, Arthur had gone so far as to lay his jacket over a shivering Merlin. He woke up to find it back over his own shoulders. It would be infuriating, if it weren't so heartbreaking.**

**Arthur does his best to not let the sting of rejection get to him. After all, Merlin isn't in his right mind. He is... confused. Agitated. Not thinking straight.**

**But it would be okay. It had to be okay. Arthur has to convince himself it would be okay or he'd never make it to the end of this forsaken trip.**

**He'd get Merlin back to Camelot... back to Gaius. Gaius would know what to do.**

**Arthur can't pretend this isn't a huge setback for Merlin. The Knights, Gaius and (Arthur liked to think) in large part himself, had set Merlin down the road to recovery. They'd got him speaking, got him to smile, got him to laugh, even. He basically had the run of the castle. Merlin woke up when he wanted, ate when he wanted, relaxed when he wanted... not even the King would deny him.**

**Then** _**this** _ **... learning of not only his home town's destruction, but the brutal murder of his mother. Merlin, despite his new freedom,** _**still** _ **had his magic locked away, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable. Arthur could feel all the work they had done crashing down around his ears.**

**Most worrying of all, Merlin reminded Arthur of a turtle.** _**His** _ **turtle, which he had found in a creek as a young boy and unwittingly taken home as a pet. For** _**days** _ **Arthur had stood stock-still in front of it, brandishing a leaf of lettuce and trying to** _**force** _ **it to eat. But every time it poked itself out and saw Arthur's giant head bearing down, it quickly withdrew.**

**Eventually it died.**

**Arthur feels as though he was ten years old again, armed with nothing but lettuce. Merlin is withdrawing, and he doesn't know what to do about it.**

**Arthur is just scared that he might decide to stay that way.**

**888**

Despite the fact that Merlin was well into his second year of slavery, he knew the least about the boy closest to his age, Boan's son, Hadrian.

Merlin supposed that part of why he remained such a mystery was because they were hardly ever in the same room together. Hadrian worked out in the fields with his father, and although Merlin sometimes made an appearance there too, Hadrian liked to keep a good distance from Merlin, unlike his father, who always enjoyed keeping a close eye. When Merlin was working in the house, Hadrian stayed out of the room. In fact, the only time Merlin really ever saw him was when he was serving him dinner.

But the matter remained that Hadrian would simply not speak to Merlin. In all of Merlin's time there Hadrian had not uttered a single word in his direction. Indeed, for the first three weeks Merlin had thought him dumb until he witnessed Hadrian conversing with his Mother. (Merlin had been lighting the fire at the time, nearly fell in with shock...)

But this strange unwillingness to talk to him was the very reason that Merlin liked Hadrian best. You can't give out orders if you won't talk. Hadrian had never asked him to so much as fetch his shoes. This gave Merlin the impression that he could be a potential ally, right from the start.

However, true to his form, any conversation Merlin tried to start with him was distinctly one way, and he soon gave up not even a week into his plan.

There was more to this man than met the eye, however. Hadrian hated his father. Even though he had absolutely no proof, Merlin was  _almost_ certain of it. It couldn't be all in his imagination, it just couldn't. Hadrian's disapproving facade whenever he caught sight of Merlin receiving a punishment, his annoyed huffs when rough orders were barked, and the cold eye he so often settled upon his own father... No. Hadrian didn't approve of Merlin's enslavement, he couldn't. He was almost sure of it, and to ease his sore conscience he pretended that Merlin did not exist.

But even though Hadrian seemed to hate his father, even though Merlin had seen him several times staring out the window, as if wishing he was far away, (an activity he often engaged him himself) he obeyed every word out of his father's mouth, to the letter. He was practically a better slave than Merlin. Boan and Hadrian had a confusing relationship, to say the least; to be so irreversibly attached to one you regarded so poorly. Merlin often wondered if Hadrian spent each night as Merlin did in the winter- curled up with his fingers in his ears, trying to ignore the sounds from the next room over. Merlin thought he must... he slept too close to not, and it would explain some of the animosity between them.

Up to then Merlin had been content of staying out of it. What did it matter to him as long as no orders came his way? And if Hadrien really did hate his father? Well, all the more they had in common.

Up until then, he had been okay with their unspoken agreement that Merlin was invisible. There was no point in denying that Hadrian had a lot of his father in him, and Merlin was afraid of coaxing that part out of him, should he try and befriend the man. Yet this was a risk he was willing to take, having gained sufficient motivation.

He was tired of getting second hand information, tired of relying on gossip from fellow slaves with no evidence or proof. If the Camelot army was traipsing around nearby, Merlin needed to know about it.

So he decided he'd have to ask Hadrian, to try to talk to him once more.

He got his chance sooner than he'd expected. He was mucking out the stables only a few days after his decision when Hadrian came in for a horse.

Per his normal routine, he was sure to not look at Merlin as he secured it's lead, but Merlin stopped. Holding his shovel nervously in sweaty hands, he had to swallow a lump in his throat before calling out.

"Hadrian." His voice was rusty from non-use.

If Hadrian was startled, he did not show it. He did not stop, did not even pause, but went straight to the saddle and began fiddling with the girth.

"Hadrian." Still nothing, but Merlin was not disheartened. "Okay," he continued anyway, "just hear me out. All I need to know is if there Camelot soldiers in the area, Hadrian, please. You have to help me. Please understand, this could be my  _last chance_  my last chance to go home... to see my mother again. I know you don't like having me around, but  _you_  know that I don't enjoy being here. I used to live in Camelot... if it's in trouble... If there's anything... anything... I'm not looking for much, just some information,  _please_."

He quieted after that little speech, and silence fell. Each second that passed seemed to stretch into eternity. The suspense was horrible. Hadrian did not turn around.

" _Please_ , Hadrian," Merlin asked once more in a cracking voice, "You don't have to say anything... just shake or nod your head... this could be my last chance...  _you_ could be my last chance..."

The girth was secure, the horse bridled. Hadrian took the reigns and paused. Merlin's heart soared in anticipation.

Hadrian took a deep breath as if to speak, and looked over his shoulder, looked over at Merlin, and fixed him with a hard stare. Merlin leaned forward eyes wide, eager. He was not going to miss a single word, not a single helpful word. There'd been precious few in the last two years.

But then he turned and exited, the horse's swishing tail a mocking laugh.

Merlin's heart plummeted.

He should have known better, he thought as he continued his mucking with renewed ferocity, he should have known better than to ask for help.

He was alone here, a lesson he'd do well to accept.

**888**

**Arthur's feet have barely touched Camelot ground** **before a dark blur flies past him so fast he swears he could feel his hair ruffle.**

**It heads straight for Merlin. After three days of deep silence and thick tension, with nothing but his own confused thoughts to keep himself occupied with, Arthur is more stressed than he realises. When he whips around with his hand on his hilt, only to find Merlin wrapped, not in the hands of an ill-wisher but in the arms of a friend, he's embarrassed, though he'd never say as much.**

**It's Gwen, back again in Camelot, returned, Arthur reasons, probably not long after his and Merlin's own departure.**

**The sight of her thick, swinging curls inevitably brings back memories of why they bounced away in the first place, and his stomach clenches uncomfortably.**

**Her arms were wrapped around a stiff and blank- faced Merlin with all the fierceness of a mother bear. Even though it had been quite some time since Arthur had heard her voice, the endless chatter streaming from her mouth now puts him at ease. Merlin is back and Gwen is back and it was almost like the days when his father was alive and all was right with his world.**

**Well. Relatively speaking.**

**"Merlin!" She is nearly breathless with excitement. "Merlin, I can't believe it! I can't believe it's you, I can't believe you're alive!"**

**Though she is clearly squeezing him rather... rather more** _**bracingly** _ **than Arthur's approach, Merlin stands quietly, a cooperative doll.**

**Gwen pulls back, but only to kiss Merlin's cheeks and forehead. "Oh, Merlin," only her thick voice gives away how close she really is to tears. "I'm just so glad you're back... when Elyan told me you were alive...you could have knocked me over with a feather, and of course we came as fast as we could, but you weren't here and Gwaine said you'd gone to see your mother and you'd be back soon but really you were gone so much longer than you should have been, and of course I was so worried and..." trailing off, her eyes seem to finally take in the dilapidated state Merlin has come back in.**

**She takes in his slumped form. His entire body is drooped and tired and fading... and if he stands out here in the sun long enough, Arthur suspects he might just melt away.**

**Her eyes rove over him, and then she turns to look at Arthur and the two horses that make up their entourage, as if she is looking for someone.**

**Stable Hands are already beginning to swarm around them as she chances a small, questioning glance back at Arthur. He gives an imperceivable shake of his head.**

**Turning back, Gwen pursed her lips. "Right," she says, and she takes a step back to run a hand through Merlin's long and shaggy hair. "Right. Well, Merlin," she forces a smile and it nearly cracks her face in two. "Clearly, Arthur still doesn't know how to clean up properly. Look at the state of your hair." She takes a piece between her thumb and finger to examine.**

**Arthur hears the tone of her voice and he knows she was teasing. He knows she is just trying to lighten the dark look on Merlin's face.**

**But it hurts anyway.**

**Gwen takes Merlin by the hand and gently pulls him toward the castle. "Come on then," she says, "let's get you cleaned up."**

**888**

" **There we are!" Gwen exclaims as she finally finds the scissors she's been looking for. She snips them a few times in her hand, experimentally.  
**

**Merlin watches from the center of the room, in the chair he has been instructed to sit in. His eyes follow Gwen as she comes over to face him and bends down, her hands on her knees, to look him in the face.**

" **You are going to look very handsome when I'm done with you." She promises, a giant smile on her face.**

**She vanishes from sight, and then two warm, soft hands are drifting gently though Merlin's hair, nuzzling against his scalp, fluffing out his overgrown locks. Merlin lets his heavy eyelids fall shut as that familiarly exuberant voice washes over him, a reminder of happy things with a promise of more to come. And Merlin loves the sound of it. Because it's not faked, it's not forced... it's just... Gwen. How he'd missed her...**

" **...not that you're not already handsome," Gwen is saying now, "but you know, I just** _ **don't**_ **think long hair really suits you, Merlin." She takes a strand between her thumb and forefinger and stretches it out,** _ **tsk**_ **ing when it almost draws level with his chin.**

" **They hide those lovely cheekbones of y-** _ **oh!**_ **Merlin! You scared me!"**

**For, quick as a flash, Merlin's hand had shot out and captured Gwen's, tugging to bring it eye-level with his face. Gently, he turns it, and when he sees what he's looking for his lips twitch slightly.**

**Almost triumphantly, Merlin raises up her hand as if to show her, tapping at the small gold band wrapped around her ring finger.**

**Behind him, Gwen blushes.**

" **Yes, alright, I got married... don't be so surprised." She has a piece of his hair between her fingers, but it slides away as Merlin leans across the table, suddenly eager for his quill and parchment.**

**She leans over his shoulder, frowning as she tries to decipher his messy scrawl as it works its way across the paper.**

_**He's not good enough for you.** _

" **Merlin!" She laughs. He can** _ **hear**_ **the warmth in her voice, and it seeps into his bones. "That's sweet... but he's wonderful, he really is. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to Cyfinwich."**

**Merlin settles back into the chair, ready to listen to her story as the scissors in Gwen's hand are finally put to use and the first lock of Merlin's hair floats to the ground.**

" **I had just moved in. I had this shabby little house on the edge of town... a little run down, but it was cheap and it had everything I needed.**

" **The only problem was that I was running low on money, and I was having trouble finding a job. I was knocking on all these doors, asking everyone around... but no luck. I got a few doors slammed in my face, and I was feeling a bit lonely, just wondering around the market, very homesick and very upset, worrying that I made a huge mistake in coming here and perhaps I should just go home after all, when something caught my eye.**

" **There was a man, a blacksmith. He was working on this set of keys. The sun was just start to set behind him, and the light was filtering past him... and you could see the sweat glistening on his skin... and... and his shirt was low cut, and when he moved in just the right way..." she gave a shaky sigh, her hands pausing, just for a second, in Merlin's hair.**

**"But," she continues in a stronger, more straightforward tone, "that's not what** _**really** _ **caught my eye."**

**Her hands begin to move once more. Gwen's voice is slowly rising to fill not only the emptiness in the room but also, just maybe, some of the emptiness in Merlin, too.**

**"What** _**really** _ **caught my attention was the fact that he was using double-chambered forge bellows instead of double-acting bellows. I mean, I know the double-chamber is cheaper, but is the disrupted air stream really worth it?"**

**She shakes her head. "My poor father... he'd been** _**spinning** _ **in his grave if he knew. When he was a blacksmith, he never cut any corners. He was- well. Anyway, I took it upon myself to let him know he was making a huge mistake. Once a blacksmith's daughter, always a blacksmith's daughter, I suppose." She chuckles to herself.**

" **So when I pointed it out, in my most polite voice of course, he wasn't very grateful, no... started going on about how I didn't know anything about forging and how I was only a women and how if I could do a better job than him he'd give me the whole bloody shop. So naturally, I did just that: I shooed him out of my way and started on my own set of keys. You should have seen his face when I finished. I mean they may have** _ **looked**_ **pretty similar, but any halfway decent blacksmith would have been able to see that mine were better. But instead of thanking me, he got all red and embarrassed, gasping like a fish out of water. Then he just turned around, marched inside and slammed the door in my face.**

" **You can imagine how incensed I was, but I mean there was nothing else for it. I didn't expect to lay claim to a shop that was offered in a bet in the middle of an argument, but a thank you would have been nice at least. They were fabulous keys if I do say so myself... But after that, I just wandered on home.**

" **Then guess who showed up on my doorstep the next morning, looking all abashed (as he should, of course) with his hat in his hands... and** _ **flowers**_ **no less. Said he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to let his temper get the better of him and that he was actually really thankful for the advice since he'd just inherited this forge from an estranged Uncle and he didn't even really know anything about being a blacksmith except for what he'd researched himself, and would I like to come and work for him at his shop.**

" **I didn't have any better offers, well I didn't have any other offers at all, so I said yes. And it turned out that he's really sweet. Very considerate... He gave me more than a reasonable rate, and days off whenever I needed. He had a few other... misconceptions about what woman could and could not do, but I took great pleasure in proving all of** _ **those**_ **wrong.**

" **You know, now that I think on it, he's a bit like Arthur... prideful, but willing to admit when he was wrong, after he calmed down a bit... hot-headed, you know? And don't you remember how Arthur used to think women couldn't fight until he was** _ **beaten**_ **by a woman in tournament? Well I suppose it's a bit like that, isn't it? They're** _ **both**_ **very aware of how much women can do now. After all, he could barely run the shop before I came along.**

**"I taught him some and he taught me some... and together we made it work. You'd like him, Merlin. He's an honest man; a hard worker. And he's good to me. Buys me nice dresses and things. Never rude or unkind... never lays a hand on me. He's good to me. A bit quick-tempered, but I love that about him. I love him, and he treats me like a princess."**

**It was less the story and more Gwen's tone, honest and open, that convinces Merlin that she really does love him. He doesn't doubt her husband's love for her... surely nobody who does meet her could avoid falling in love with someone so beautiful, inside and out. For a few seconds there is silence, broken only by the metallic scraping of the scissors, as Merlin processes everything that Gwen said.**

**Moving to Cyfinwich by herself, helping to run a forgery, just as her father once did, falling in love, getting married... compared to what he'd been up to for the past years, it seemed like a whimsical fairy tale, a happy life he dared not even wish for.**

**And yet... and yet... something is bugging him, even so.**

' **He treats me like a princess.'** **She'd said.**

**He reaches for his paper.**

_**But you could have been a real princess.** _

**She puts the scissors down, and her fingers run through his hair for a moment. The touch feels heavenly- intimate, yet kind, not pushing, not asking for anything. Friendship, caring, in its truest form.**

" **I'm not sure what you mean, Merlin. Here." Those fingers disappear for a moment, only to return in front of his face this time clutching a mirror.**

" **What do you think?"**

**Merlin takes it and gives a glance and wan smile that's definitely more for Gwen than it is for him before putting it face down, back on the table. He reaches for his paper again.**

_**Why did you say no when Arthur proposed?** _

**Gwen blushes. "Don't be silly, Merlin. Arthur didn't** _**propose** _ **to me."**

**Merlin turns around in his chair, fixing Gwen with a dubious look, one that told her he clearly didn't believe her for a second.**

**She grimaces and moves over to the bed where she sinks with a flap of her skirt and a deep sigh.**

" **Alright, fine, he did propose."**

**Merlin flashes a triumphant grin. He scribbles another sentence underneath the first before bringing it over to her.**

_**What happened? I thought you liked him?** _

" **I did like him, Merlin," she says, placing the paper on the bed next to her, "It's not so simple."**

**Merlin holds out his hands, motioning expectantly. After all,** _**someone** _ **had to catch him up on all he missed.**

**Gwen sighs again and flops back on the bed** _**.** _

" **Alright. We were together for a while, and I thought I had seen every side of him, but after you...** _ **left,**_ **he... changed." The mattress shifts slightly as Merlin sits next to her, and after a moment she continues.**

" **He was... different. Still prideful, still driven, but somehow his attitude had changed. He wasn't as...** _ **cheerful**_ **, he wasn't as** _ **happy.**_ **He never smiled or joked around... I don't think he ever got over losing you. He didn't seem to really care about anything anymore, he just... he kept everyone at an arm's length; like after you were gone he didn't trust anyone not to just up and leave him.**

" **Then, of course, his Father died. He didn't talk to anyone for** _ **days**_ **, not even me. He was inconsolable. After he got coronated, there was a lot of pressure on him to settle down and pick a queen. Things between us hadn't been the same for a long time, and honestly, I was expecting him to break it off, choose a proper lady, a duchess or something, you know, but he didn't. He proposed to me, but... he wasn't the same man that I had fallen in love with. He was emptier, like he was only proposing because he was** _ **expected**_ **to. He hadn't been the Arthur** _ **I**_ **knew for a while and I... I couldn't do it.**

" **Course it didn't take long before the whole Kingdom found out that the King had proposed to a servant girl and she had said** _ **no**_ **. Well, you can imagine all the ridicule I got, a crazy servant girl turning down a** _ **King.**_ **I didn't care, though. I wasn't going to marry him just because he's King. I couldn't do that to him... and I couldn't do that to myself. I left soon after that. Not because of what people were saying about me, mind you, but because I just couldn't stand being around Arthur. It felt like I was the third person to leave him, and I couldn't stand knowing that I had disappointed him like that, and then see him everyday. It was heart-wrenching. Plus how could I get over him if I was constantly around him? It was hard, but I'd do it again. I love Cyfinwich; I love my life there and I love my husband."**

**There's a gentle** _**floomph** _ **and Merlin is laying by her side, a contemplative look on his face.**

**Gwen smiles and reaches over to touch his cheek, as if with one simple touch she could erase from his mind and body all the horrors he had been through.**

**She sits up, and Merlin follows.**

" **Never mind Arthur for now." She says seriously, "I'm just glad you're back, Merlin. You've been through so much... I just want you to know I'm here for you, if you ever need me. And I- I'm so sorry, Merlin. For everything,** _ **everything**_ **, I'm so sorry."**

**She embraces him then, tight against her chest, and the tears that dampen her dress come from more than one set of eyes.**

**888**

Merlin's blood boiled sluggishly, thick and hot like mud.

His jaw ached, tired from grinding his teeth.

An anger was living in his chest, and everyday it grew. Everyday it curled a little tighter; a little closer to springing, to striking.

Everyday, the man he'd served so loyally, the man he'd painstakingly pushed toward glory, the man whose destiny was entwined with his own, the man he'd risked life and limb for, his best friend, the hope and promise of a better future- not for  _him_  but for generations to come...was defamed at the table.

Boan was neither a fan of Arthur's, nor a friend of Camelot's, and he didn't have any reservations about explaining his views.

Every night.

As Merlin served him food and wine, he listened as his home, listened as the thing he most desired in the world was desanctified, cut down and spat on.

Every night.

It burdened his soul to the point where he could take no more.

"Their King is nothing more but a  _boy playing dress up._  He puts on his father's crown and thinks himself tall! He'll get what he deserves all right, sending his guards over here, turning  _our_  village upside down looking for this witch, spreading his own problems around as if we haven't enough of them ourselves! He never should have let her out of his sight!"

As he filled Boan's cup Merlin tried to keep his hands from shaking, jaw closed tight. He'd never been great at holding his tongue in anger; Arthur had complained about his big mouth enough times for him to know. He'd had the weight of the whip hanging over his head to help keep his head cool, but even that seemed to shrink when compared to the grievances spoken against his homeland.

"He should have killed her when he had the chance, but  _no_! He let her go instead, showing her  _mercy_ ," he scoffed. "Soft! That's what he is! I hear they're related, ain't they? Half his blood sister, is she? That's no excuse, no excuse at all! He's a coward! He's weak! And he'll run Camelot into the bloody gr-"

" _You're wrong!_ " It was not a calm comment, not a planned statement. It came from inside him like projectile vomit... impossible to swallow back. The wine jug was no longer in his hands but he could not remember putting it down.

Boan's eyes grew so wide, Merlin feared they were in danger of popping out of his skull.

"What?  _What did you say to me?"_  Boan stands up from the table so fast he jarrs it, sending plates and food bits diving to the floor.

He's going to get it. He's going to get it. He's going to get it so bad.

He backs up to the wall, but his mouth doesn't come with him.

"You're wrong!" He screamed it, screamed it from his bones even as he moved back, away from Boan's coiled fists. "Arthur is the Once and Future King! He's going to unite the lands of Albion!"

Boan advanced on him, and Merlin's voice began to falter.

"He- he will be remembered forever because of his mercy and fairness and goodness, and it's people like  _you_ , evil and stupid and cruel who- who-"

"I've had enough of this!" Boan roared, grabbing Merlin by his collar, "Enough of your thieving and  _lying,_  and enough  _of that tongue of yours!"_

With one strong hand, he hauls Merlin over to the table, and with one great swipe of the other arm, everything not already on the floor quickly finds its way there.

His head was pressed against the tabletop as, for the second time, he's bent over it's edge.

Hadrian and Ellyn both watch, still in their respective chairs though both had the intelligence to scoot back a few feet. Ellyn looked on with her usual cold indifference, Hadrian, a tight lipped silence.

Merlin lay still. He did not struggle as both wrists were pulled behind his back. His heart slammed in his chest, beating against his ribs like it, too, wanted out. He could feel a coldness in his gut like a block of ice, even as beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead and under his clothes.

Never before in all his years had he been in so much trouble, so alone, and so utterly defenceless.

He felt almost detached, from his body, from his situation, from the world. He barely noticed the rope encircling his wrists in a deadly tight embrace. And he watched, from someone else's eyes as Boan, one hand still pressing on Merlin's face, scrambled down on the floor for something. Somewhere a door clicked shut, and Merlin couldn't help but wonder which member of his audience had fled.

Then Boan straightened up, the butcher's knife he clutched in his fat fist glinted in the light of the candles. It was fatally sharp. Merlin would know... he had whetted it.

He eyed its edge, detached. He wondered which limb was going to come off, a finger, an ear, a hand... or perhaps even his entire head.

If he was to die tonight, then so be it. He hadn't been afraid to die for Arthur while he was in Camelot, and he wasn't afraid now. It was oddly fitting, really.

His destiny, coming to light at last.

But Boan didn't reach for his neck.

His hand instead reached for his mouth, pulled at his jaw, the knife still posed in his other hand.

And then it clicked.

_His tongue._ Boan was going to cut out his tongue.

His jaw instantly tightened. Panic began to set in, suddenly everything was too real and too bright, and happening much much too quickly. He started to struggle, trying vainly to rise from the table, to untie his wrists, to get free.

His tongue, his tongue, his tongue, please no, no, no, he was going to cut off his tongue, he was going to cut off his tongue. No, no, no, please, no, no,  _please..._  How could this have happened? How could he have ended up here, on this dirty table, about to have his face mutilated by a madman and, he'd really rather just be killed. He couldn't even save Freya, how could he possibly save himself? How had he become so weak, so useless, so powerless.

Boan struggled with him now, trying to keep him still and open his mouth at the same time, but Merlin was stubbornly resisting, teeth shut together so tight he thought his jaw might break.

_Please no... please..._

Hadn't he suffered enough? Couldn't the journey end here?

"Hadrian!" Boan called roughly, "Help me, hold him down!"

White faced, forehead glistening, Hadrian paused.

And Merlin dared hope.

A fatal flaw. Hadrian rose, and obeyed.

Then their short battle was over before it had begun. With Boan in front of him and Hadrian behind, Merlin had no chance... and he was so weak... They pinned him down, restrained him, and Merlin could barely move, though that didn't stop him from trying. He was like a cow, a cow ready for the slaughter. He'd never felt so vulnerable. His blood was like worms in his veins, wriggling through his body. His eyes prickled, and he could feel sweat rolling down his forehead to the table.

Even so, they couldn't cut out his tongue if they couldn't get his mouth open, and Merlin was keeping his resolutely closed.

Boan's fingers fought against his lips, causing Merlin's chapped lips to burn but he didn't open his mouth. His breaths were coming fast and hard like he had been running, lifting his chest up from the wooden surface slightly.

"Hadrian, his nose!" Boan's voice was strained.

Two cold, clammy fingers came down and pinched his nose shut.

He held out as long as his could- until it felt like his lungs were collapsing, deflating. Suffocation would be better than what awaited him here, wouldn't it?

But his body betrayed him. His mouth opened in a gasp for air.

"Please," he gasped in a breaking voice, before the hands had a chance to pounce, his eyes roving from Boan, back to a Hadrian, who he couldn't see. His neck jerked endless, trying to pull his head away. "I'm sorry, please, no,  _please-_ " They were the last words he ever spoke.

Fingers were in his mouth and they pried his jaws open, open until he thought it might snap off. Hadrian's front pressed against his back, effective both in holding him down and keeping his hands free to occupy Merlin's mouth. His stomach pressed heavily into the table edge, and it ached painfully.

His tongue was pulled from his mouth and the tip of a knife was inserted, so sharp his flinched.

Sweat and tears were keeping his face hot and stuck to the table, and now blood joined the mix, and Merlin spluttered as it flooded his mouth, hot and metallic, as it made its way down his throat, choking him.

It spread across the table in front of him, a thick red pool.

And the pain... the pain... unbearable. He was screaming deep in his throat, screaming until his whole body felt raw with agony. He writhed like a worm stuck on a pin, no longer able to keep himself up but it was okay because someone else was. Someone was killing him, killing him and they were starting with his tongue. He began to lose sight of who he was and where he was and who was doing this to him... he just knew unending, searing pain, and he would have said anything, bowed to anyone, to get it to end.

But it didn't end for hours; even after his tongue was gone and he had stuffed a few rags in his mouth to stop the bleeding. It still hurt; his entire head throbbed with a pounding, pounding pain like someone had used his mouth as an anvil.

It didn't stop.

It would never stop.

**888**

**Arthur decides, in his most astute and professional opinion, as King of Camelot, that it was completely unfair. He stares into the fire now, chin firmly in hand, thinking over every way in which he had been wronged.**

**All day long he had had to endure as Merlin and Gwen got along spectacularly. The two of them spent much of the day together with Gaius, with Arthur popping in whenever he could find an excuse to run down between meetings. Gwen would give Merlin smiles and small comforting touches and hugs... and Merlin would give them back! It isn't that Arthur's jealous of their friendship, of course. It was just that, well, he didn't understand it.**

**Why did Merlin wrap his arms around Gwen yet, when Arthur had tried to comfort him in the same way, he had resisted in every sense of the word. It didn't make sense. Actually, all things considered, it was a bit infuriating.**

**After all, when it came to Merlin, Arthur really felt like he had left no stone unturned. Even his** _**jacket** _ **had been deemed unworthy to sleep under and now Gwen comes along and Merlin's more than happy to let her pamper him and cut his hair and smile (albeit sadly) at her over his dinner plate.**

**The only possible conclusion he could come to was that Merlin was in love with Gwen. He had, after all, been very close to her when he'd been kidnapped. Perhaps he'd had feelings for her that Arthur hadn't known about.**

**This possible solution made Arthur frown in displeasure. He thought he knew why, though he didn't like to dwell on it. But if it was love that made Merlin so agreeable, than Arthur thought he could understand his pain, because it was a love destined to go unrequited. Gwen was married now, and lived a least a week's worth of travel away.**

**But if that was the case, why hadn't Merlin demanded to see her sooner? Packed up his bags and set off like he had for his mother? The whole thing was confusing at best.**

**Arthur is twirling a letter opener around in his fingers and it catches in the firelight, glinting up at him all too happily for Arthur's taste. He's just about to give the whole thing up and turn in for the night when there's a timid knock at his door.**

**George not doubt, coming to tuck him in bed or fetch him a drink or sing him a lullaby... Arthur sits himself straighter in his armchair before answering.**

" **Come in."**

**But it's not George who enters, it's Gwen, looking hesitant and a little unsure of herself.**

" **Gwen," he manages in surprise, and she gives him a wan smile.**

" **Sire," she says, executing a perfect curtsey.**

" **Don't do that Gwen," Arthur says rolling his eyes, "and call me Arthur, please."**

" **I just thought you'd want to know," she says straightening, "that Merlin's just gone to bed. Gaius said you like to be, ah, updated."**

" **Oh, has he? I didn't hear him walk past."**

" **He didn't. He wanted to sleep in his old bed tonight. At Gaius's."**

" **Oh." Arthur deflates a bit. "Wanted to get away a little further, did he?" He asked moodily.**

" **Arthur what on earth are you talking about?" Gwen asks, coming in a bit further and closing the door behind her.**

**Arthur sighs, finally putting aside the letter opener. "Nothing, I just... I don't get why he's being like this."**

" **Being like what?"**

" **Like... with** _ **you**_ **, Gwen, I don't get it! I've been trying to- to help him for** _ **days**_ **now and he's, he's turned away, pulled away,** _ **ran**_ **away, refuses to talk to me, barely** _ **looks**_ **at me... and I thought he was just grieving, and then, and then** _ **you**_ **come along and he's okay! I just... not that I blame you or anything, Gwen, I'm glad he's improving, really... I... I suppose he's just... I suppose he just likes you more." He finishes, looking away.**

**Gwen fiddles with her fingers, coming forward to lean on Arthur's bedpost. "I don't think that's it at all, Arthur. Haven't you talked to him? About what happened, I mean?"**

" **No!" Arthur cries in frustration, flinging his hands in the air. "Because he won't! He barely writes down anything, and he doesn't say a word about what happened to him in the last four years! I mean, I got a bit out of him about his leg... but I don't want to push him, either. I just don't know what to do anymore. He doesn't seem to want to stay here, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go, does he?" Arthur rubs his temples. "I just wish he would tell me why he's avoiding me..."**

" **Arthur," Gwen says in a tone that implies he should already know, "He's** _ **afraid**_ **of you."  
**

**Arthur is dumbfounded. "** _**Afraid** _ **of me? What are you talking about, afraid of me? He can't be! I- I haven't done anything! I-! He has to know I would** _**never** _ **do anything to hurt him! How can that possibly be?"**

" **Well," Gwen says gently, "he's been through a lot, and-"**

" **I** _ **know**_ **, Gwen," Arthur interrupts heatedly.**

" **Please, Arthur, we did a lot of talking, well, actually, I did a lot of talking, Merlin did a lot of writing, and he told me a lot about what happened and... and I think that he's afraid of what you might think of him after what he's been through." Artur opens his mouth to argue, but Gwen holds up her hand to stop him. "I know it doesn't make any sense to you, Arthur, but he's not the same person he was when he left. It's degrading, what he went through, being enslaved like he was. I don't think he came out of it with a lot of dignity left, and I think that he's scared you might think less of him if you knew what he's been doing to survive these past years. After all, you're a King now, aren't you? You're different now too, and he** _ **knows**_ **it. Maybe he's scared that he doesn't have the same level of friendship he did when left. Plus..." she trails off.**

" **What, Gwen?"**

**She bites her lip. "I don't think I'm supposed to say..."**

**He rises from his armchair, coming over over to grip her arms. "Gwen, please, if it's information that'll help Merlin..."**

" **Ooh," Her face wrinkles, "Arthur don't you get it? He** _ **waited**_ **for you."**

" **What do you mean, waited for me?"**

" **He** _ **waited**_ **! For four years, every single day he waited for you to come and find him, rescue him! Every day might be the day that you would come and crash the door down and take him home to Camelot. He watched you hunt down countless bandits and animals without a problem and then when it came to him... maybe he thought you just didn't care, that he was just a servant after all."**

**Arthur gapes at her. "That's preposterous!" He declares after a moment. Shaking his head, he begins to pace wildly about the room. "Gwen, we searched for** _**years** _ **! There was nothing, absolutely nothing, there was no bloody** _**trail** _ **to follow, or don't you think I would have? I nearly exhausted the treasury, half the bloody kingdom was out looking!"  
**

" **I** _ **know**_ **Arthur," shes says gently, "I remember. But did you ever tell Merlin?"**

**He looks at her stupidly. "Ah, no." He says, finally. "No, I suppose I didn't... like I said, we don't really talk... about... about what happened...** _**after** _ **... that much..."**

**Gwen smiles. "Well tell him, Arthur. Maybe he'll surprise you."**

**Arthur remains silent, and Gwen heads for the door. Right before exiting, she turns.**

" **I know how much Merlin means to you and how much you mean to him. I'd hate for you to lose each other."**

**After the door clicks shut, Arthur sinks onto the edge of the bed, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.**

**Could what Gwen said be true? Could Merlin actually be scared of Arthur? He could hardly digest the thought.**

**Could he really mean something to Merlin?**

**He laid back onto the bed and turned his head to the window. The moon, nearly choked by dark clouds, stares back helplessly.**

**Tomorrow then, Arthur decides as he turns his face away. Tomorrow he would talk to Merlin and sort this whole thing out.**

**And then everything would be okay.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get a fourth thank you for making it all the way to the end! Thank you!! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know... I skipped the update in September. I am very, very sorry. I am super-duper busy this semester. Please accept this chapter as token of my apology. Also, this was self-edited so I apologize in advance for mistakes. Thank you for reading! <3

On the best and worst day of his enslavement, Merlin woke up underwater.

The goings-on of the world came to him from somewhere far away- a muffled, distant, dream-reality he couldn't seem to access. Every time he got close to breaking the surface, he was dragged back down again.

He was unbearably heavy; moving was hardly possible. It was as though air had turned to quicksand, and he had to fight it every step. He constantly teetered on the edge of nausea, and he craved sleep like a starving man craved food.

Every inch of him ached.

He couldn't  _think_. His brain was full of angry, stinging bees. He could feel each heartbeat behind his eyes and it kept his whole body throbbing.

He crawled through the day- moving, though he was not always positive of his surroundings. It required all his strength to keep going, even at his glacier pace, and looking back, he could never be sure how he did it.

Half of him wanted to open his jaw and explore the damage, but the pain kept him from doing it. Without his tongue, his mouth felt harshly empty. Experimentally, he tried wiggling whatever was left in his mouth, and while there was definitely a bit of movement, he was greeted with such raw, red, pain he thought his head would split in half. It left him hunched over whimpering, and after that he had no desire to attempt it again. He tried to move his head as little as possible.

For the first time in three years he was not hungry. One day had passed since his tongue had been cut out and still the idea of it had him cringing. But he needed his strength, and he knew it. So, he tried to eat at noon and the attempt nearly left him in tears. Just opening his mouth had him doubled over, sending a white hot pain from his mouth to down to his fingertips. Needless to say, he didn't get anything down.

Not long after, there was a thick, foul liquid in his mouth. He could feel it, slowly bubbling up from his... where his tongue used to be. It took nearly ten minutes of building up his courage before he let his lips crack open, and leaned forward to let the liquid drain out.

It was pus, thick and pale yellow, looking putrid. He knew he should have been alarmed, but he couldn't work up the energy. He just wanted to rest.

Words came deadened to his ears. They had to travel through the churning waters around his head to reach him. Boan, with his boots propped on the table, his yellowing teeth on display, made a crack about enjoying all the silence as Merlin swept the floors, but the comment didn't even registered in his brain. It took him nearly forty-five minutes to finish the chore.

He seemed to come in and out of it; one minute all the world was just a blur of confusing color and sounds, and the next he would suddenly become far too aware of his surroundings, far too aware of the pain that sloshed around in his body.

It was, by far, the worst day of not only his enslavement, but quite possibly his life. He could not think of a single thing he would not have given to end his suffering... or at least to have taken a nap.

Mercifully, darkness came, and with it the promise of rest. He need only light the fire. The night had developed a fearsome storm. Rain pounded the roof, thunder made sure there was no silence, and lighting made the very air tingle. A draft was ever present, and Merlin knew the barn would be freezing. He looked forward to it. The cool air could only feel good on his aching head. Anything would feel good, as long as he got to lie down, to close his eyes for a time. He was so completely exhausted; his entire body was filled with sand.

But rest was not to come to him yet, for just as he was poking at the red coals of the hearth, something most unexpected happen.

There came a knock at the door.

Even when the late hour was discounted this was odd because never in all of Merlin's time had he  _ever_  heard of a visitor stopping by, not even on holidays.

Indeed the strangeness of it was still sinking in when Boan seized the back of his shirt and hauled him (painfully) to his feet.

"Answer it." he growled, giving Merlin a shove. Merlin's head gave a particularly painful throb as he stumbled. The room swayed nauseatingly and Merlin wasn't sure if he was moving or the room was. For a moment he was glad that he hadn't eaten anything that day because he didn't think he could have handled the pain if he had thrown up. The poker slipped from his languid fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter as he grasped at the nearest surface for support.

When the room finally righted itself, Merlin, head spinning, was left with an anxious feeling in his stomach. It took a moment for him to collect himself, to remember where he was and what he was doing.

Right, the door.

On unsteady feet he went to it answer it, and had to fumble with the knob. There, filling Boan's doorframe stood five men, donned in shining silver and water-logged red capes. They dripped with water. Merlin blinked hard several times. They were still there.

The foremost one was tall, broad-shouldered, and the clear leader.

"Greetings." His voice was jovial. "I am Sir William. My men and I have come far from Camelot, scouting for our forces in the east. We have stopped to make camp, but the night is bitter and the weather foul. We seek quarter."

Merlin stared at them, wide-eyed. There was a bubbling in his chest. He had to do something. A dark haired man to the right of William frowned at Merlin. "Are you alright?"

There was a jostling behind him and Boan was in the doorway, pushing Merlin aside. "What do you want, then?" he asked nastily.

"Do you own the land here?" Merlin heard the first man's voice once more.

"I do, and I'll thank you to not to trespass!"

"We look for shelter from the storm. We've come from Camelot -"

"There's no room for you here!" Boan tried to shut the door, but it stopped before it could swing shut as if something blocked its path.

The voice that came next was hard. "I know you would not deny foot soldiers of Camelot quarter... not while King Arthur is so generously providing your land with his protection."

And not even Merlin could have missed the sword hilts peeking from their capes.

Begrudgingly, Boan opened the door. One by one the filed in. As he passed, the dark haired man gave Merlin an odd, concentrated look, glancing at him up and down. The other didn't spare him a thought as they went past, trailing water like they had just stepped out of a lake.

As their leader, William, looked around the room sharply, the other four of them crowd around the fire, warming their hands and removing their sodden capes. One picked up the poker Merlin dropped and tried to coax more flame from the coals.

All the activity made Merlin dizzy. He leaned against the wall for support, holding his head to keep it from spinning. The dark haired man who spoke earlier was turned slightly, still staring at Merlin with furrowed brow.

"You look familiar." He said in a deep voice once he'd caught Merlin's eye. "Do you hail from Camelot?"

Without thinking, Merlin wrenched his mouth open, wincing at the sharp pain it caused, but all that came out was an eerie sort of groan. He felt about as taken aback as all the soldiers looked.

"He's stupid." Boan supplied quickly. "Idiot slave. Doubt he even knows what you said."

The man went back to the fire, a wary look on his face.

Merlin began to sweat. He was stifling in all this noonday  _heat,_ but even so the sweat was cold. All he wanted to do was sleep. If he wasn't allowed to sit down soon, he thought he might collapse. He wondered when night was coming.

"A drink, perhaps?" William, who has seated himself quite comfortably at the table, had a hopeful look on his face.

"The mead, slave." Merlin looked around, confused. " _Mead_." Boan pointed with one thick finger. " _Go."_

Voices began behind him as he stumbled across the room, but they were muted beneath the sound of the pounding rain (or was it his heart that was pounding? Merlin couldn't tell) and he could not make out their words.

He made it to the side table, after an hour of walking, and he had to lean heavily on it's surface to stay upright. The jug of mead rested only inches to his right. But it was so difficult to move... and no matter how hard he blinked, the room would not stop turning, making it impossible to tell where anything was. He was so dizzy that he feared he would have fall sideways, without the table to steady him.

Twice he reached for the jug, and twice he missed, leaving his hand with a firm grip on the air.

With rattling breaths, he steadied himself, and turned his head to wipe his sweaty face on his shoulder.

This time he took a different approach. He let his hand rest on the table and slid it forward, using the surface as a sort of path.

His hand hit the jug. It kept going.

There was a smash, a sensation of wet feet and a loud cry.

Something seized his upper arm tightly and spun him sharply about, but Merlin's gaze was unfocused. His head turned aimlessly, unsure of where to look.

A hot breath was at his ear, speaking so loudly his head pounded. "Look what you've done!  _Look what you've done you stupid fool!"_

There was a scraping sound, and suddenly a new voice spoke from… from… Merlin couldn't tell where.

"Please, allow me..."

There was a flash of scarlet at the edges of Merlin's blurred vision that disappeared as soon as it had come.

"Let him,  _let_   _him_  do it, he's the slave!"

A broom was thrust into his limp hands and he just barely held onto it, the weighted end tipping to the floor.

Slowly, he dragged the bristles slipshod over broken glass, doing more harm than good, really.

He just felt so  _heavy_ , and it was difficult to concentrate with the raging storm in his head. Or was it inside?

Either way, the static of rain in his ears studded by rolling thunder made all other noises pale in comparison. Voices had started up once more, and even though they were louder than last time, he could only catch words here and there.

"Surely... allow your... base... doctor... two days."

"How dare... on my... your king... my slave... _house!"_

"Come now... help... nearly dead!"

"I'll thank... not to... own property... what I... like!"

"Are you sure... your slave... Camelot?"

Camelot. That's right. He had to tell them he was from Camelot. How could he have forgotten? This would have been a lot easier if someone hadn't stuffed his mouth with cotton.

He'd have known where to turn if the room would just  _stop. Spinning._  Maybe it was him spinning. He tried to stand still. ...He couldn't tell if he had done it.

The bees in his head made it so hard to think. And stand.

He clutched his broom for support.

Voices swirled, unintelligible above his head. If they would just shut up... if he could just... close his eyes... just for a moment. The edges of his vision grew dark.

He was on the floor, with no memory of how he got there. It was hard and uncomfortable beneath his brittle spine, but even so it felt so good-  _so. Good_. To just lie there and not be in charge of his own body for a moment.

Hands were pulling at him; tugging his clothes, lifting his shoulders. He resisted.

 _Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He only wanted a few more moment's sleep-_  and then he was leaning against something.

There was a soft whisper at his shoulder. "Whoa there... It's going to be okay."

His mother's voice- no. It had been much too deep. Gaius's then. ...but that didn't seem right either, somehow. Something blessedly cool was pressed onto his forehead and it might have been the best thing he had ever felt.

An argument. He could hear someone angry, someone angry nearby. It frightened him. His head rolled limply to one side. But they wouldn't let him rest. They wouldn't let him be.

Horribly hot hands attacked his face, tilting it up, lifting up his eyelids... he cringed and squinted, probably because the sun was so bright. It made his brain hurt.

He tried vainly, to push away the hands that probed at him but it was like trying to push down a wall.

A third hand took his and pulled them down to his sides. Their grip was nothing short of iron bars.

"It's alright." The voice above him fell a little short of comforting.

Merlin blinked several times. Though the face that swam above him was blurry, he could tell who it was because of the dark hair. Lancelot.

Now was his chance. He had to tell Lancelot to take him back, back to Camelot, back to his home.

With every last ounce of his strength, he opened his sore mouth. If he could just tell him... if he could just do this, he somehow knew that it would fix everything. This was the most important thing he had ever done in his life.

"Camelot." He croaked, a creaking voice slipping between two chapped and bloodless lips. "Take me to Camelot."

But as he spoke, someone else drowned out his words. There was a horrible, unintelligible moan, full of suffering and despair.

From whom this wail had come he knew not, but he hoped the soldiers helped them soon. They were clearly desperate.

His eyelids were too heavy to keep open any longer, and helplessly, Merlin let them slide shut, barring out the world.

\--

**"Arthur? You'll want to see this."**

**He's not two steps out of the throne door when his already depleted attention is once again demanded, this time by Gwen. He'd been finalizing some plans for a citywide feast, despite what his advisors said. He knew the people didn't have much, but their moral was so low... they needed _something_  to celebrate, and what was better than their victory over Morgana?**

**Thoughts of roast turkeys and dress tunics are still bouncing around in his battered brain as Gwen pulls him through dim hallways. Though it was only midday, the torches were lit. Rain had been pouring down on the castle since dawn and its assault had not lightened with the lengthening of the day. The gray overcast makes it seem like perpetual twilight, and try as he might, Arthur finds it difficult to shake the feeling that should still be in bed.**

**Unfortunately, there are far too many people competing for his attention for such a luxury, and as far as he is concerned the first on his list was Merlin. A list that, as of now, seemed doomed to go uncompleted; first due to meetings, and now because Gwen had both physically and metaphorically captured him… not that he was resisting.**

**This makes him endlessly annoyed... and perhaps, just the smallest bit relieved. Because as much as he wants to set things right between him and Merlin, he has absolutely no idea how to go about doing it.**

**Whatever the confusion inside him, it was about to come to realization for Gwen was leading him to the very object of his thoughts.**

**They stop at Merlin's open doorway.**

**"Look." Her voice is tearful at his shoulder.**

**There is Merlin, huddled deep into a corner, knees curled to his chest, face buried in his hands, and, if the clothes clinging to his body are any indication, absolutely soaking wet.**

**Arthur's blood runs cold and stops in his veins but even then it's not as still as Merlin is sitting.**

**"He's been outside all morning." Gwen's cracking voice whispers. "He refused to come in. I tried talking to him and Gwaine and Leon and Percy...and- and he wouldn't respond and I- I didn't know what to do, and I knew you'd be furious and he couldn't stay outside- he'd catch his death and, so, Percy… Percy picked him up and carried him in and, oh, Arthur," she shakes her head, "you should have seen… he didn't move- he didn't react at all- he didn't- he didn't- I don't even know if he knew what was going on…"**

**"Give us a moment, will you? Go get us some fresh clothes and hot water." Arthur speaks low so Merlin won't hear as he sends Gwen out the door.**

**He walks in casually, quickly taking off his crown and tossing it onto the bed. "Fancied a dip, Merlin?" He asks lightly, coming to stand in front of him. Merlin tries to inch closer to the corner. Arthur's heart breaks as he hears a distinct sob. He crouches down.**

**"Let's… let's get these wet clothes off you, alright?" And though he tries to smile, his voice is fragile even to his own ears. Unbidden, the image of a wet, shivering puppy comes to mind, whimpering with its tail between its legs.**

**He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision and takes Merlin's arm, doing his best to wrestle it out of it's sleeve. But Merlin is not exactly helping. He's not _exactly_  doing anything. He just sits, there, head bowed onto his knees.**

**"Merlin?" Arthur tries gently.**

**Merlin does not even look up.**

**Arthur let's go of his arm, frustrated.**

**"Merlin!" he tries louder, touching the back of Merlin's head.**

**_That_  got his attention. Merlin jumps violently. He begins shaking his head so vigorously, so violently, that it smacks against the wall behind him with an audible thud that has both of them wincing.**

**It was and action so… so incredibly _Merlin_ -like, that Arthur's eyes are opened, and all it once it hits him like he was the one who had just smacked his head into the wall.**

**In front of him was not a small, neglected child. In front of him was not a kicked puppy. It was _Merlin_. His clumsy manservant, the small unassuming village boy from Ealdor who had not only saved Arthur's life but had also saved all of Camelot without asking for so much as a Thank you in return. He was Arthur's friend, and his only family left.**

**And he was hurting. Badly. That was evident to anyone who took a look at that face- like everything inside him had been turned to a fizzing, bubbling agony and you could see it swirling behind those empty eyes. He was hurting, and Arthur was stumbling around like a proper village idiot, stalling, because he was _slightly embarrassed_.**

**He straightens up, squares his shoulders. After all… he _is_ King.**

**He grasps Merlin's thin shoulders. They try to shy away from his fingers, but he keeps his grip. "Merlin," he says firmly, holding him steady, "Merlin, look at me. Look- here."**

**He doesn't, but Arthur continues going anyway, addressing Merlin's right cheek.**

**"It occurs to me that you have you have saved Camelot over and over, without- without even**

**_expecting_  anything. And if there was any justice in the world, you'd have the whole kingdom down on bended knee, but, well..." He sighs, "You're just going to have to make due with me." Arthur clears his throat, because after all, this was long overdue and he was going to do it properly.**

**"Thank you, Merlin. Camelot would be truly lost without you." There is a pause in which Merlin reaches toward his inkpot, but Arthur interrupts him.**

**"Wait. There's more." He is going to get this all out now, damn it. Finally, their eyes meet, but Arthur suddenly has trouble keeping Merlin's gaze, and he looks away. Eyes settled on the floor, he starts again, heart pounding.**

**"When you were gone, I sent out search parties to find you. Not just- I mean hundreds. Hundreds. We searched again and again and again. I now know the woods surrounding Camelot like the back of my hand. People acquiesced at first… but after a while they started complaining… telling me you were dead, telling me it was time to stop. I ignored them. I mean, we had found the handkerchief, and that was enough for some… but we never found a body, and I was convinced, _convinced,_  you were alive, Merlin, I really was. I wouldn't hear a word otherwise. I just- until i found your or your body there was no way I was going to stop searching. I was determined, I didn't care what anyone said. I nearly exhausted the treasury on bloodhounds and horses and men…" He shakes his head.**

**"Then… then Morgana… she betrayed the King, revealed her magic, swore revenge for magic-users and tried to take over Camelot… and my Father he- he couldn't handle it. He gave up. I had to rule in his stead, and he died soon after that. And… Merlin, I was so- I was so scared. I had been preparing to be King all my life but… but I don't think anything can really prepare you for it. Suddenly everyone was asking me for answers I didn't have and waiting for me to just- fix it all! Still, when I could, I sent out parties for you, Merlin. I could rarely go myself anymore, but still, I sent out men."**

**"And then… the advisors. They came to me. They said 'Your manservant is long dead'. They said 'It's time to stop these childish behaviors,' 'The whole Kingdom is resting on your shoulders,' and 'You can't afford to waste time and money and men like this… don't you know there's a _war_  coming?' and… I listened to them. Merlin, I listened to them and I- I've never been more sorry in my life."**

**He lifts his stony gaze to look at Merlin's started visage, and when he speaks again, his voice is a whisper.**

**"I'm sorry, Merlin. I am so, so sorry for not _finding_  you, for  _giving up on_  you… it is my  _greatest_ regret, and I- I have no intention of letting it happen again. And you shouldn't be afraid of me. You were- and are- my best friend. I lo- care for you. Very much. There is no one,  _no one_  more important than you. The truth is… it's  _me_  who's scared of  _you_ , Merlin… because… because if I were you… I think I might hate me, and that… that thought terrifies me."**

**Speech over, he falls silent. His hands leave Merlin's shoulders a bit damp and he wipes them on his breeches.**

**He clears his throat. "I'll just- I'll check on those clothes." He makes to stand, blinking, perhaps, a bit more than was strictly normal.**

**But Merlin's hand attaches itself to the front of his shirt, grabbing on tight and stopping him. He tugs Arthur back down,**

**"Mer-" but Merlin's fingers cover his lips, quieting him. His fingers slide along Arthur's skin, cupping his cheek.**

**And then he smiles. A full, eye- sparkling, teeth-showing smile, but Arthur doesn't even have time for the elation at the sight to fully set in before Merlin's face closes in and they are kissing.**

**His entire body tingles with approval. Pleasure sweeps away any surprise. Merlin is cold and wet, but Arthur holds him tightly anyway, as if he can chase away the shivers with his embrace. As Merlin's chilled lips warm themselves on Arthur's, he becomes aware that this is all he _ever_  needed, all he  _ever_  wanted, and every moment he spends  _not_  kissing Merlin is a huge waste of his time.**

**Merlin's mouth stays closed when Arthur's tongue ghosts along his lips, and his face yanks quickly away, but that's okay. He kisses across Merlin's cheek instead, and he closes his eyes, and turns into the touch. Heart jumping excitedly, Arthur forges a path up into Merlin's hair, still dripping with water. And then… he just holds him; Merlin hangs on tight to Arthur's back, his face buried into the crook of his shoulder.**

**And nobody says anything when Gwen has to deliver two sets of dry clothes.**

\--

Even before Merlin opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. He knew only where he  _wasn't_  and where he wasn't, was in the barn.

There was an absence of straw beneath him; unyielding rock where the familiar, soft itchiness was supposed to be.

Gone, also, was the musky smell of animals and dung. In its place, there was a heat- not the sweaty hotness of the docile milking cow whose stall he shared, but a live, crackling, warmth that spread through his body, making him feel like butter ready for spreading.

In all of this, perhaps the strangest thing of all was the fact that he had woken up of his own volition. There was no sharp ache of a boot in his gut, no chains rattling in his ear (which would not only break the sweet respite of sleep, but also reminded him just where he belonged in life). He could not even  _remember_  the last time he had slept his fill.

His whole body was heavy and saturated with exhaustion, even though he had just awoken. His joints were stiff and sore, his body brittle. His mouth… his mouth felt dry and fuzzy- like it had sprouted fur overnight. He ached for water to cool his lips… but when he tried to shift his head, it throbbed in dull protest. Moving was clearly out of the question. He wanted to explore the inside of his mouth, but it was difficult. For one, he had nothing to do it with. It made the space between his jaws feel so empty. Apprehensively, he tried to work the muscles where his tongue had been. A hot knife of pain cut through his tender head so sharply it caused his breathing to stutter wildly. He quieted instantly, lest it bring the attention of his masters and cause the next torturous day begin.

He could hear voices nearby. There were definitely more than one, probably more than two, more than three? He couldn't tell. They were soft and low, at least a few meters off. They didn't sound angry.

He became aware of more sensations then. The shrill cry of a bird, the smell of smoke so thick he thought he could almost feel it on his skin, the rustle of branches and leaves, and then the feeling of a cool wind that both chilled him and relieved his steaming head.

No one told him to get up. No one told him to move. No one paid him any mind in the slightest.

He went back to sleep.

8

"Hello? Um. Excuse me?" Someone unfamiliar was speaking softly above him. Someone unfamiliar was touching his arm. Merlin felt no compulsion to get up.

"Sir?"

 _Sir?_ Him? He couldn't help if his lips twitched at that one. It was such a proper name for someone who was willing to suck water off the floor at that moment.

He let his lids open, but caught only a glimpse of a brown hair against a backdrop of brilliantly blue sky before he has to squeeze them shut again. Light pierced his eyes shards of glass. He groaned, one hand coming up to cover his face.

He heard a chuckle. "Told you that one would get him," said the voice to someone else.

The arm was back on his shoulder, gentle, but insisting. "I'm sorry, but you've got to get up. You haven't eaten anything since… well. You haven't eaten, and the physician said to get some food in you. You've got to keep your strength up."

Merlin opened his eyes again, slowly, cautiously, this time. He let the sunlight filter in between his eyelashes. The world was dark and blurry beneath them, but he could still make out the figure looming above him.

With the help of this stranger, he sat up, groaning at the change in position. He felt so lopsided and unsteady, like he could topple over at any moment.

"There we are…" The stranger said gently, his hand steadied Merlin, and despite his confusion, he was grateful.

His hands supported his swollen head as black spots bloomed in the blurry field of his vision, but they faded as fast as they appeared.

"Easy does it," said the voice. Only after several deep breaths did it occur to Merlin to look around.

He was at a campsite, deep in the woods. Though he had no recognition of the place, he had never been allowed to wander very far from Boan's house, so he couldn't rule out any proximity. Despite his confusion about how exactly he had gotten there, who was with him and what was going on, he hoped so very much that he was far, far away from that place. He was convinced that anywhere was better than there.

Besides the man by his shoulder, there were four others. They were spread out, the nearest one being at least six feet away, but even so Merlin felt as though he could feel their stares on him, coating his skin like a thick paste and it made his insides crawl. He avoided their eyes.

The events of the other day came back to him as if they were a dream. All the memories seemed blurry and surreal. He wasn't sure what bits actually happened… A huge storm, Knights in the doorway (Okay, so that bit was obviously true), a horrible throbbing pain, and Lancelot? He knew  _that_  part could not be real. After all, he had watched Lancelot die himself, but Merlin felt compelled to examine each of the men anyway.

One lay back on the ground, an arm draped over his eyes, his jaw slackened. Merlin could not tell if he was sleeping. The second, the man with the dark hair, leaned against a trunk, his feet comfortably settled in the fork of an opposing tree. Directly in front of Merlin, in what seemed to be the center of it all was a low fire, barely able to keep itself above the wood it sat on. It was here that the third man stood, poking it wearily with a branch clearly taken from the pile laden in his other arm. The fourth was also by the fire, but crouched low over it. He was stirring something in a small cooking pot, and past that Merlin's eyes could see no more.

His whole world narrowed to that little pot, and when the man started to ladle hearty spoonfuls into a bowl, he had to have it. It was too long, much too long, until the thing was placed in his hands, and when it was, he didn't waste time on useless things like spoons, but lifted it right to his mouth. It came with a fair amount of choking and spluttering at first- learning to swallow without a tongue… but he learned quick enough. Past the shock of pain, he could feel hot broth spilling past his lips and down his chin and although he didn't think anything could ever fill the hole in his stomach, it was better than anything he ever had or ever would experience. It was better than living, better than breathing, better than sleeping, better than-

"Can you tell me your name?" The man was offering him a stick. Merlin stared at it stupidly, and the man grew concerned, his forehead wrinkling.

"You do  _have_  a name, don't you?" Merlin took the stick. He scrawled his name quickly in the dirt before turning his attention to more important things, like food. He pointed back to the pot, in a manner that was more than a little like pleading.

"Merlin…" the man muttered under his breath. "Sinon! Get Merlin some more soup. And some water, too."

He turned to Merlin. "My name is William." Merlin thought the name sounded vaguely familiar, but he didn't think he had ever met the man before. "I lead this unit. I'm sorry, we tried to get that thing off your neck," he gestured, "but we found no latch… you'll have to talk to a blacksmith when you get back to… your home. Where are you from, incidentally?"

Merlin wielded his stick once more, but he'd barely scratched out the 'm' in 'Camelot' before there is a sudden shifting beside him.

"I  _knew it_." The black haired man is at his other shoulder. "I  _knew_ it. I knew I saw your face somewhere, you looked so bloody familiar..."

Merlin began to scratch out that he worked in the castle and that the knight had probably seen him hovering somewhere behind Arthur, but he doesn't get to finish because all thoughts of communication were wiped from his brain when another heaping bowl of soup and a canteen of water was thrust into his hands.

He went for the water first. Again it hurt to swallow, but his thirst greatly outweighed the pain.

"We had a doctor from a nearby village come to look at you," said William. "You probably don't remember, I don't think you really knew what was going on, but he said that without medical assistance you would have died."

This fact did not particularly bother Merlin.

"We weren't exactly supposed to free any slaves," William adds sheepishly, "But we couldn't leave you. You could barely stand- white as a sheet… and the collar… well, you'd obviously been taken from somewhere…"

It was halfway through his second bowl that Merlin realized it, having slowed down enough to notice what was missing.

His taste… as if Boan hadn't taken enough. He looked up, forlornly. William seemed to mistake this for amazement.

"That's right," he was clearly pleased with himself, "You're a free man now, Merlin."

"We'll see how happy our King is when he's found you've upset the locals." Said the man Merlin thought was sleeping.

William frowned.

"He's been much less lenient ever since that servant of his died, and that was  _years_  ago…"

Merlin gestured wildly to himself.

"That's not you then," the dark haired man said, leaning in close, his astonishment clear in his voice.

Merlin nodded, and he burst into laughter. "I can't believe it..." he ran one hand through his shaggy hair.

"Then I guess the King will be pleased after all." William said smugly, placing a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"We'll take you back to Camelot then." The dark haired man was still grinning. "Well, I mean not us  _personally_. We're just scouting, see, waiting here for the rest of our platoon to show up... should be sometime early tomorrow morning. They'll have someone who can take you back."

Merlin smiled, really smiled, for the first time in a very long while. Because finally, finally... It was over.

\--

**As far as kissing Merlin goes, Arthur now considers himself something of an expert- a fact he takes _enormous_  pride in. Each time his he pulls away from Merlin, only to find him looking happier than he did pre-kiss, it leaves him elated- floating off the floor. Each time they embrace he is left with lightning crackling through his veins and fire bubbling in his stomach. Given his way, it would be an hourly affair. At  _least_.**

**But Arthur's free time, and everything he likes to do with it (a list growing considerably shorter ever since Merlin's name joined it) is at the mercy of his royal duties. But this isn't the only thing that has Arthur exercising his (in his opinion) braggable amount of constraint. (And he dares anyone who disagrees to kiss Merlin and then _not_  do it again.)**

**He is rather frightened of lavishing Merlin with _too_  much affection. His moods could often be unpredictable from day to day, and when he was feeling skittish or upset he liked to avoid...well, everyone. As insecure as he felt admitting it, Arthur doesn't think he could stand it if Merlin, in a sudden bout of volatility, rejected him- ignoring any attempts at friendship, let alone intimacy, like he had during their travels. Therefore, he commonly reminds himself that Merlin probably did not want to kiss Arthur  _nearly_  as often as Arthur wanted to kiss him. And what with all Merlin had been through, it does not even  _occur_  to Arthur to sneak in the casual peck on the cheek.**

**No, for each heated moment they share he makes sure make his intentions overly clear, blatantly clear- even as going as far as to warn Merlin that he was about to have the living daylights kissed out of him a few times. This way, he figures, Merlin can always refuse or turn away if he wanted (he hasn't yet- a fact that makes Arthur liable to wet himself with excitement). Otherwise, he waits for Merlin to initiate any kisses- which, Arthur _delightedly_ notes, happens more often than he could have reasonably hoped for.**

**Nevertheless, after _extensive_  research, he has developed three main points, to which he refers affectionately in his own mind: A Guidebook for the Proper Kissing of Ex-Manservants.**

**Number one**

**Under no circumstances are you to ever grab the hair (or anything else, for that matter) on the back of his head. Unless, of course, those circumstances are that you have positively _lost_ yourself in the feeling of his lips against yours, and the only world that exists for you is the light suction on your upper lip. If this is the case, you have likely lost control of your limbs. Arthur sympathizes. Fully aware of this rule himself, he often slips up, as full of desire as he becomes, and forgets what his hands get up to. (Plus Merlin's hair is so soft and newly cut... prime grabbing material- especially when Arthur feels a little dominating and wants to leave a line of feathery kisses down that lovely neck...)**

**Sometimes even before his hand can fully close around the back of Merlin's neck he's jittering out of Arthur's embrace. He cringes, and an all too obvious shiver runs down his spine. He'll shake his head... Not to Arthur, but as if to banish unwelcome thoughts, and quickly busy himself with something else- most likely outside, and with Gwen. To be safe, Arthur has deemed the entire back of Merlin's head, as well as all hair gripping, entirely off limits. It is not an easy rule to implement. Several times he caught himself just in time, and had to shake his hands out and quickly grab Merlin's waist instead. He is always proud of himself on these occasions, especially since Merlin's lips are so damn distracting. His lips amazingly talented. Mind-clearing talented. Suspiciously talented.**

**Arthur is almost positive that Merlin has done this sort of thing before. The thought makes him incredibly sad... And frighteningly angry.**

**Number two**

**No Tongue. Literally.**

**Believe it or not (and Arthur wouldn't have, himself) Merlin is very shy about his tongue- or rather, lack thereof.**

**The first time Arthur pushed his own tongue past the border of Merlin's lips, he turned his head away, face wrinkled in an adorably cute way, a hot flush crawling its way up his neck. Arthur assumed that Merlin simply wasn't ready for such level of intimacy. He berated himself, vowed to be more considerate, and forgot about it.**

**...For a time.**

**But it happened with impressive consistency. And it simply wasn't possible that Merlin just wasn't _ready_  for it... Not with the way he'd attack Arthur's neck, all teeth and suction, not with the way he'd lean into Arthur's gentle touches and soft caresses, like he could never, ever get enough.**

**So Arthur rejected this flimsy proposition. In lieu of their ...extremely unique situation he found a more fitting explanation. The more likely solution was that Merlin was embarrassed; he had no tongue to reciprocate with. Or perhaps of just felt odd, someone else's tongue wriggling around where yours was supposed to be... sort of like caressing the stump of an amputated arm. Arthur supposed it was indeed very difficult to get any satisfaction out of tonguing without a tongue, or maybe you just had to be missing a tongue to understand. Of course his theory has not been fully confirmed. Merlin hated whenever Arthur brings it up, always becoming a bit deaf and very preoccupied with the nearest convenient distraction.**

**But Arthur doesn't mind too much. He's had his fill of Merlin's lips, in every which way he could imagine. And when they're left pink and swollen, there are plenty of other bits of Merlin on which to lavish his attention.**

**He absolutely _spoils_  Merlin's ears with kisses. Them, and the skin behind them are covered in marks by the time Arthur's done sucking them. Merlin absolutely relishes in the affection, especially when it's tender and gentle. Naturally, Arthur makes sure to pile it on. He never could say no to this new, hedonistic Merlin...and he didn't really want to, anyway.**

**From the ears, he'd work his way inward, kissing along the line of Merlin's jaw, pausing in the middle to re-visit those oh-so kissable lips. From there he'd change direction, head upwards, branching out first to kiss Merlin's cheeks, and those preposterously beautiful cheekbones. He'd kiss his nose, three, four, five times… until he was satisfied that it was properly inoculated with his devotion. From there, Arthur dragged his lips up the bridge of Merlin's nose, a bridge that seemed to have been designed just for his use. Then he dropped sweet, gentle kisses on his eyelids, one apiece ...or maybe two. Each eyebrow was visited, as were the indents next to each eye, and Merlin's forehead was always thoroughly explored. Arthur saved the temples for last, giving each a proper nuzzling, letting his nose squash against that tanned skin as he breathed kisses so feather-light he could see goose bumps sprouting on Merlin's arms. This provided him with a convenient path right back to those ears if he felt, in his most professional opinion, that the process needed to be repeated, which he often did.**

**If everything was going well (and more often than not it was) Merlin's arms would be clamped tight around Arthur's neck, a vice-grip in his hair or on his shirt collar. His face would scrunch up in … well. There just was no manly way to put it- the most heart-melting toothy smile. His whole body would relax and unwind until it filled every corner of Arthur's slowly narrowing world. His head would tip back, allowing Arthur to nibble every inch of it (that is, every inch he could reach that wasn't covered up by that damned collar).**

**And the noises… the noises this boy made. With Merlin so silent, Arthur already savored each delectable peep. Yet, somehow, it was so much better when he knew _he_  was the one coaxing them out of him. It was so much better when it was  _his_  ear that caught Merlin's hitched breath, when  _his_ touch that caused those delighted squeals, when  _his_  tongue elicited the throaty gasp Arthur had convinced himself was the first syllable of his name. He only wished that he could really hear it, could really hear his own name, dripping with  _want_ , coming out from Merlin's mouth. He often imagined how it would sound, the smell of it in the air; he imagined how it would look, Merlin's lovely, debauched lips forming each letter carefully. He imagined how it would feel, those piercingly blue eyes staring right into him as that word hung between him, the shiver that would run through him in hearing everything one syllable could hold… it always made Arthur's pants feel much too tight.**

**But he tried not to dwell on it because he had Merlin… and that was more than he could have ever wished for. How could he possibly ask for more when what he had was already more than he deserved? He could feel Merlin's warm body beneath him, could feel him arching up to Arthur, looking for Arthur, wanting Arthur. The smell of him, the sight of him, the _taste_  of him. Arthur had never been so glad to have a tongue- had he not been able to taste that skin, those lips… he knew not what he would do. He was absolutely inebriated with Merlin. Completely intoxicated. Like a drunkard craves the drink at all hours, Merlin consumed his every thought. He could do nothing, not sleep, nor eat, nor talk, nor sit without Merlin creeping into mind. Merlin was what he wanted to drink, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Merlin was his most precious commodity. He was a drunkard; Merlin was his wine.**

**Number Three (and this was, perhaps, the most crucial)**

**Eye contact.**

**Merlin definitely has a propensity for the adorable over the arduous. He likes to hold Arthur's hand whenever they are sitting next to each other (which Merlin makes sure is damn often) and his thumb gently caressing Arthur's knuckle makes it impossible to concentrate on anything else.**

**He likes taking walks outside with Arthur, whenever he has the time (which was not nearly as often as Merlin would have liked). He'll settle himself down in the grass, content to gaze at the clouds and listen to the birds for hours, all the while with one hand on Arthur's arm, just to make sure he's still there.**

**He likes to cuddle, likes to fold himself up into Arthur's arms, his head pressing into the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur has found himself the victim of assault-cuddling more than once, not that he's ever minded. He'd be reading a book or penning a letter, or just sitting and gazing off into space and Merlin would find him, quite defenseless, and crawl into Arthur's lap. He was happy to stay there, alone with Arthur, breathing in his scent and nodding off until Arthur declared him exhausted and helped him off to bed.**

**...which invariably lead to other things, none of which involved sleeping.**

**Yes, Merlin prefers the tender moments... But it certainly didn't mean that things never heated up between them.**

**It never came from nowhere. There was always some hand holding or shoulder rubbing, maybe a gentle caress before the kissing started. Merlin would be snickering over Arthur's amused shoulder as he struggled his way through yet _another_  speech… but it only took a few minutes before Merlin's snorts melted into groans, and Arthur's amusement disappeared completely, replaced instead with a burning desire.**

**He liked it best was Merlin was seated on his desk. He'd clear it's surface from paperwork in one dramatic sweep of his arm. Merlin, his head tossed back in ecstasy, would have a death grip on Arthur's hair, keeping him close while Arthur's hands wandered. They'd slither down Merlin's sides, feeling each rib on his thin body. They'd pause at his waist, dragging his hips forward until they were pressed flush against his own, and he had to bite own tongue until he tasted blood to stop himself from rutting against the stiff heat he felt there. Merlin's legs would invariably wrap around his waist, crossed at the ankles to prevent Arthur from escaping- like he could leave even if he wanted to. Between the two of them, Arthur definitely felt like the slave.**

**It would happen without warning. Arthur would be trembling with desire, taking shaky breaths against Merlin's collarbone. One hand would be fiddling with the hem of Merlin's tunic, trying to decide whether it was a good idea to venture up it or not, all the while his tongue lapped urgently at the sweat beginning to form on Merlin's skin… and then hands would be on his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin in a way that in no way read 'more'.**

**Merlin would wrench his head up, pushing back on Arthur, struggling to put some distance between them. When Arthur's hands flew off him, his head tearing back, as it always did, Merlin would grab his face and hold it steady in front of his own for several long minutes, like he had to make sure Arthur was really Arthur; like he very suddenly and very urgently needed memorize every line of Arthur's skin.**

**Arthur hated when this happened because he knew something was wrong. He knew something was bothering Merlin but he would never say what. There would be no trigger, no lead-up. One moment Merlin seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Arthur, the next he'd be frantic to not be touched, with tensed arms and tensed shoulders and tensed legs like he might need to jump up and run at a moment's notice.**

**He'd learned that it was best in these situations to keep his hands well off. He'd smile as big as he could while, for no good reason, his heart broke.**

**"S'alright, Merlin." He'd do his best to sound soothing, "It's just me."**

**He knew it was safe to touch him again Merlin's shoulders slumped, relaxing once more. Then he'd wrap him up in a tight hug, Merlin's head tucked under his chin.**

**"S'alright…" he'd murmur again, stamping Merlin's hair with a kiss. "You're safe…"**

**In his own way, Merlin seems to have forgiven Arthur for what he'd done…**

**...but Arthur would never forgive himself.**

\--

When Merlin awoke for the second time without hay beneath him or cows beside him, he was not confused. Despite waking up in the same way, and in the same place for over a year, he knew exactly where he was. Perhaps, because he had fallen asleep to the mantra 'I'm free. I'm going home. I'm  _free_. I'm  _going home_ ,' playing over and over and over in his head.

He could smell food, breakfast he did not make and yet he was sure he'd be allowed to eat. For once, he did not mind waking up.

They spent the day waiting for the troops that were promised, the ones that would take Merlin home. The men were nice to Merlin. They talked to him, or at least they tried to. Merlin was so excited he felt he could have talked their ears off. He had always been a chatterbox... and even though he wasn't as up for talking lately, he still would have liked to tell the knights how appreciative he was at the very least. How they had saved him from living out the rest of his miserable days as a soulless shell. He couldn't stop thinking about what his future held. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be happy… it ran through his head again and again- how he'd be headed home soon, how excited he was to see everyone, the first thing he'd do upon returning (it was a tie between eating himself sick and bathing until his skin turned pruney). He knew that, had he a tongue, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from talking all about it. It was nice, in a way. He hadn't felt like this in a long time.

They asked him many questions. Who was he in Camelot, how had he gotten captured, and how was he feeling, how was he feeling, how was he feeling. He did his best to answer but writing in the ground was tedious, and signaling with his hands proved a highly frustrating and inaccurate form of communication. Neither did they have with them parchment or quill.

Merlin found any communication extremely difficult. They never understood what he was trying to say quite right, and conveying even the shortest sentence took far too much energy than he could be asked to muster. Eventually the questions trickled off to the occasional yes or no, for which Merlin was grateful. (He did manage to tell them the story- or the barest version of it he could manage. He didn't really fancy talking about what had happened to him... Living through it once had been enough, thanks.)

There wasn't a whole lot to do. The men mostly sat around, polishing armor or nodding off. In another time, Merlin might have been bored, but now he was simply enthralled. He had nothing to do.  _He had nothing to do_. He hadn't had free time in three years... It was a bit overwhelming. He didn't know what to do with himself.

He laid back against a tree trunk, intending to look at the sky, but the treetops were so dense he could only see snatches of blue between leafy green. He wandered to a nearby crick with two other knights to splash cold water onto his face and into his hair. He hadn't had a bath in  _ages_ , and he was sure he smelt, even by Knight standards. However, the water was muddy and he doubted he did little more but make himself dirtier, in actuality.

He ate every bite they gave him, making sure none of it went to waste. Eating was still a bit painful, but the pleasure of a full stomach greatly outweighed it. It had been difficult at first, eating without a tongue. He had to shake his head around to get the food where he wanted it, but he soon caught the hang of it. Once or twice he looked up to find someone staring at him with a mix of pity and confusion on their face... But they were always quick to look away. It might have bothered him if he wasn't so pleased about being able to eat.

On the whole, he was quite happy to sit quietly and poke aimlessly at the fire.

William was not so calm.

He could not seem to sit still. He paced about and then sat down and rubbed his hands together and jumped up again to pace.

"Any moment," he'd say every few minutes. "They'll be here shortly. Before lunch, I'm sure."

And when lunch came and went…

"Soon, soon. Not too much longer now... I expect we've gone a bit further than I realized... They'll be here before nightfall. Any second..."

"Maybe they lost the trail," suggested one man as the sky began to grow dusky.

"Impossible," William dismissed "impossible." He was sweating, a light sheen on his forehead. "If anything the trail was too clear, I marked nearly every third tree… sir Galahad isn't  _that_  daft..."

He collapsed next to Merlin and ran a hand through his hair.

"Any moment." he said again, this time to Merlin with a forced smile on his face. "Then you'll be on your way, I suspect. Excited?"

Merlin nodded emphatically.

"Good..." he fiddled with. His fingers, "We've got the best squadrons coming you know. Some of King Arthur's finest men."

Merlin wondered if that meant Leon or Percival... Gwaine or Elyon… his heart gave a lurch.

"We'll be going west." Merlin continued to listen, but he spoke to himself. "West. We'll find her...that's- well. They'll be here any moment. We were just scouting, you know." he added, glancing over at Merlin. "Scouting. Didn't see a single suspicious thing, no sir. Though, it wasn't a very pleasant town, was it?"

Merlin agreed with a shake of his head and William laughed feebly. "No I don't expect you'd agree... They didn't seem to like us there in the slightest… No matter. Galahad will be here... Presently... And we'll be on our way." He nodded.

Visibility was becoming poorer and poorer, and William's edginess was starting to catch on to the other men. Merlin too found his stomach knotted up.

What if the men never showed? What would that mean for Camelot? What would that mean for  _him_?

He wasn't the only one thinking along those lines.

"What if they don't come?" Asked a man as crickets began to chirp. "What do we do then?"

William must have been thinking on it for he had an answer ready. "We turn back." he said at once, pounding his fist on a nonexistent table. "We go back and find them."

"Surely you're not serious," one soldier on Merlin's right straightened up. "If they don't show up, something obviously happened. What if they've been apprehended? We don't want to run straight into a trap! We should keep going."

"And go straight through Morgana's land, are you insane?" a third Knight interjects. "Nothing goes on past Slyvandale that she doesn't know about. We should go back, take a roundabout route, and get reinforcements."

"We don't have the  _supplies_  or the  _time_  to go roundabout route!"

"Well we don't have the supplies to go forward, either!" There was a distinct glace in Merlin's direction.

"You forget yourselves!" William says loudly, and they quiet. "There are nearly 150 of Camelot's finest men coming. They can't have been overtaken, not in so large a group. If they don't show by morning we go back and find them. If- if they've perished we must go back and alert the King. Morgana hasn't been sighted closer than Furrow Hills. I am sure it is just a simple delay."

"Sir, if I may, a small elite group, like us, would have a far easier time sneaking through the woods than a large army. Should we not-?"

"And where," William fixed him with a cold stare, "Do you presume we go? Do you fancy taking on Morgana's army- the four of us? The closest military base is far to the east. It would be most prudent to alert the King of her movements."

"Aye, sir." he grumbled.

Uneasy silence fell, each man lost in thought. William collapsed next to Merlin, running a hand through his hair. Merlin tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he didn't look over and he thought it must have been more of a grimace anyway.

Darkness fell. No one felt like sleeping, not even Merlin, but the anxiety had taken its toll on everyone, and with him already weakened from abuse and illness it was hard to stay up. He was seated near the fire, and its warmth saturated his bones. He leaned heavily against a tree, relatively comfortable, warm, and fully fed. So despite his encompassing worries about whether or not the soldiers would come, he was soon nodding off and struggling to stay conscience.

The dark haired man- Merlin had still not learned his name- saw his battle awake. Smiling, he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sleep," he encouraged, "Sir Galahad will not get here sooner because you're sitting up for him. Get some rest, and he'll be here when you wake."

Next thing Merlin could remember, he awoke to the sound of hooves- many, many hooves. His heart leapt for joy. His head popped up. It was early. The sun had just barely begun to rise and the world was still dark and foggy. The other men were stiff, struggling to stir from their sleep. Most of the light came from the dying embers of the fire, but Merlin could see all he needed.

A huge mass of horse-bound figures were upon them, adorned in red capes and shining helmets. Merlin struggled to his feet, but Sir William was already approaching the foremost man, his arms outstretched in welcome.

"Finally!" He called, and though his back was to Merlin, he could hear the jovial smile in his voice. "We were beginning to think you -  _you!_   _Imposte-!"_  the last of his word was swallowed due the sharp end of a sword that was suddenly sticking through William's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry for the cliff-hanger, don't hate me, thank you for reading, I love you!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for taking so long! Happy New Year! (sidenote: I really hoped to be done with this story by the one year mark but it doesn't look like that will happen. Luckily, the end IS in sight! one or two more chapters ought to do it so just hang in there guys!)
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: This chapter would be UTTER CRAP without my lovely and talented and wonderful beta Emryslin (AO3) otherwise known as dollopheadoctor on tumblr. Take a moment to appreciate her magnificence!

They led him away, hands tied and spirit crushed.

And mile after mile, Merlin could think of nothing but how much he desired to be back on the ground with the other men, life slowly bleeding out of him with each slowing heartbeat. It churned his stomach, and stirred his conscience, because he knew should be grateful. After all, he was alive.  _Alive,_  against all odds. He knew he should feel guilty, because they had died and he had not. He knew he should feel scared, because the fate to which they led him was far likely worse than death . He knew he should feel angry, his freedom ripped from him a second time. He knew should feel a lot of things. But he didn't. He didn't feel anything, except maybe vaguely ill. He was just numb. Numb, numb, numb, all over numb.

It had happened quickly, embarrassingly quickly really, for those who boasted to be some of the best soldiers in Camelot. But they had been taken by surprise, and outnumbered ten to one. Still stiff and waking from sleep, most had barely raised their swords when the attack came. They were bound, on their knees, and in a nice orderly row with swords at their necks before the last rattling breaths had left William's warm body; Merlin was among them, though he was clearly not an able-bodied Knight like his companions.

The man who had speared William paced in front of their short line, wiping the blood from his sword on his cape. He had dark, unkempt hair and a beard that framed a face cold with indifference.

Heart beating in his throat, Merlin trembled with not only fear but confusion as well. He couldn't think straight. Was  _this_  Sir Galahad? Was  _this_  the man that was supposed to be his ticket home? Had he gone insane? Had he sided with Morgana?

His questions were soon answered. "Sir Galahad sends his apologies," the bearded man announced in a mock-disappointed voice, "but he won't be able to meet you today." The men laughed.

No. No no  _no_. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. Not now, not  _now_  when he was free,  _free…_

Panic enveloped him. He couldn't think. He couldn't - he couldn't - He was going to die here. He was going to die here and now, with a collar still around his neck, and no one would ever know...

He was having trouble breathing. He was having trouble seeing. The edges of his vision flashed black.

Two men down the line, someone was obviously not sharing in Merlin's crisis.

"How dare you!" He shouted out to the man, the hatred plain in his voice. Merlin knew the voice. Knew the face that went with it, too. But he did not know the man's name. He hadn't bothered to learn any of their names. He was about to share eternity with these men, here on this shallow grave of a forest floor; and he did not even know their names.

He turned to look, and saw the black-haired man, red in the face with rage. "How  _dare_  you wear his cape! Use his  _sword_ -" there was a sharp slap as he was backhanded, and he fell silent.

"I'll say one thing for Camelot," the man jeered with a sneer, "it's a lot easier to sneak around once you've got the right colors on..." he held out the cape in one hand and spun mockingly. More laughing. The world

would not stop spinning... And Merlin could not stop shaking.

"Yes. We have Galahad to thank for these costumes.  _Sir_ Galahad," he spat the title with a sneer, "and that nicely marked trail that you were so kind to leave us." A nasty shiver ran down Merlin's spine. "But our high priestess is not without mercy!" he announced regally, hands outstretched. "Anyone who denounces Camelot and its king will be pardoned! Our forces are more powerful than you can imagine."

Apart from the painful buzzing in Merlin's ears, his voice was the sole noise, echoing through the clearing. Even the birds had fallen silent, as if paying heed to the horror below.

"There is no way you can win. There is no hope for Camelot. Resistance is pointless - so join! Join, and know mercy! Ours is the cause of justice and freedom. Join, and spare your lives. What say you?" Merlin had to stretch his neck to see. The bearded man knelt in front of the first Knight, one hand clapped on his shoulder, looking over the bowed head and tied hands. He towered over the defenceless Knight. .

It was no way to go, none at all. There was no honor dying like a stuck pig.

The Knight's face lifted slowly and his dark hair parted to reveal expressionless eyes. Slowly, slowly, he drew breath. And spat in the bearded man's face. The bearded man stood, and wiped his cheek with an almost regretful sigh. "You fool," he whispered, before motioning to someone Merlin could not see.

There was a tinkle of armour, and Merlin knew was was coming. He grit his teeth.

"Long live the-" his head hit the ground.

His body followed.

Nausea rolled through Merlin's body. He was dead. The man who had recognized him from Camelot, helped save him, fed him soup, shown him kindness he had not known in years... Dead.

Merlin was the last in line. An involuntary whimper fell from his lips. There was a smack to the back of his head and a loud, "Oi! Eyes forward!" Though it was nearly drowned out by the bearded man's next words.

"Come now, don't be a fool! How about you?"

Though he could no longer see the next soldier in line, he heard the wet splat of saliva. His voice shook with palpable fear.

He didn't even get as far as the dark haired man. "Long li-"

One by one they went down the line, and one by one they spat in his face. One by one the dying words of men grew louder and louder as his death came closer and closer. He was drenched in cold sweat.

Three more men.

Two more men.

And then the swoosh of the sword was so close, he could feel the breeze of the killing stroke tickle his cheek in a sick caress.

This was it. His death. Because there was no way he'd join Morgana. He'd sworn to serve Arthur until he died, and hadn't done half badly until he had been captured

In fact, the last words he'd ever spoken had been in defence of his friend. His king. That clotpole. He just hoped he'd done a good enough job.

" _I'm sorry Arthur. You'll just have to be the one true King without my help._ "

He'd never get to see it, but he had faith in Arthur. Of all things, he had faith in Arthur. He had failed Merlin, yes, but he could not fail Camelot. It was his destiny, just as it was Merlin's destiny to die here and now.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. If Arthur did fail Camelot… well. No one could say Merlin hadn't given it his all. And now, this of all thoughts, gave him comfort... he had given everything . He had struggled to the bitter end, and now, finally, he could rest.

" _Yes_ ," he thought, " _Yes. Time to rest_." Calm washed over him like a warm bath.

Besides, if he had to die, he was glad to do it now - quick, maybe painless. He was happy to die here, free, with food in his stomach, rather than slowly rotting away as a slave. He'd rather not be on his knees, but he supposed he couldn't have everything. Anyway, once his head was separated from his body, he supposed that bothersome collar would slide right off. Then he could sleep. Free.

He bowed his head and exposed his neck. He wanted this to be fast. He would greet death. Welcome it. Only fools fought against an inevitable end. And once he slept, he could see Freya again. He could see Will and Lancelot again. He could apologize for letting them die. Perhaps it was only in death that they were truly free.

He could feel the eyes of his executioner on him, examining him. After all, Merlin looked starkly different from his companions. He was small, weak, obviously malnourished, and above all he had no cape, no sword, no uniform to speak of. His clothes were old. He was obviously no soldier. What would they make of him?

The man turned away. He did not ask Merlin to swear his loyalty. He didn't ask him to join his cause. If only Merlin had his magic… but it had been so long since he'd had it. It had been ages since he'd even reached for it. What used to be instinct was now more of a pleasant memory than anything else. The man flicked his fingers at his executioner. He heard the rustle of mail behind him. He knew the sword was rising. He could feel his death above him. He closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. This was it.

"Wait."

" _What? No! No waiting, do it now!"_

His eyes flew open and the bearded man's face loomed before him. His calloused hand met the rough stubble of Merlin's' face as he grasped his chin. He tilted Merlin's head this way and that.

"Mmm…" he hummed, as if in consideration, before popping his thumb into Merlin's mouth.

Stunned stupid with anxiety, frozen with confusion, Merlin let him. He could taste the salt of sweat on the man's skin as his jaws were opened. The man frowned when he saw the empty mouth. "No tongue… that's a damn shame." His bottom lip was pulled down to expose his teeth, and it all came back to him with a cold rush of vulnerability.

_A price tag hung around his neck. He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the wooden platform under his feet. His face lifted only when pairs of meaty hands forced his chin up and pried his mouth open to look at his teeth..._

With an audible click, he snapped his jaws shut. The man just barely pulled his hand away in time. Merlin braced himself for a hit. Laugher came instead.

"He's feisty!" He announced loudly. The happiness in his voice made Merlin feel as though someone had poured ice water down his throat, and had it settled in frozen chunks in his stomach. He shuddered violently.

"Merrick will love him. Get him up."

Hands seized him, lifted him; and as they did so a hot frothy bubble of hysteria found its way up his throat. This had not been the deal.

He had been promised rest; he had been promised sleep. They could not force him to accept his own death and then pull the rug out from his feet when he did. It wasn't fair - it wasn't - it  _wasn't -_

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't do it. He could not delve blindly into another level of hell. He could not survive it a second time, not after tasting freedom.

He could not bear it. He was free, damn it,  _free_! Coarse rope tightened around his wrists in a sharp bite and panic took him again. He would not go. He would not cooperate. He'd struggle until they made good on their promise and put him to rest.

They steered him towards a horse and he dug his feet into the ground, and arched his back. They shoved and he fell.

_No no no no no… kill me. Just Kill me. Kill me now._

Gasping, he wriggled away on his stomach like a worm from a flock of birds. A hand clasped his calf and he kicked out, but met only air.

"Oooh!" came an amused voice "He almost got me!"

Before he'd gone two inches there are more hands on him, clutching his shirt and his legs, dragging him back through the dirt, over root and twig, He squirmed, kicked his legs, used all his meager strength to disobey but it was useless. His lead was secured with a tug of the rope so final it made Merlin's stomach turn, but he did not stand.

They'd have to drag him. They'd have to kill him. He would die today if he had to do it himself, so help him…

With a hot stab or pain, Someone seized a fistful of his hair and pulled him upright.

"By all means, feel free to sit back down again," He growled into Merlin's ear, cutting off his cry of pain, "It won't kill you, and it doesn't make a damn difference to me if you arrive missing a few layers of skin, and Merrick won't mind one bit, but it'll rather tire out my horse."

One last sharp poke in the back and he was gone.

A dready numbness filled his body, and he trembled as if he had been wrapped in icy snow. Fight drained from his body as if someone and pulled a plug, dripping from his eyes, his ears, his fingertips, sinking into the earth.

There was no point. No point. He was theirs. He was done. Done fighting; done living. They'd use him until his far too distant death.

He stumbled away from the macabre scene, his hands pulled insistently by the horse in front of him. As he went, a crushing numbness filled him. It felt like a blessing, pushing out the pain and grief and anger until he barely felt it anymore. But even so, as glanced over his shoulder at his brief companions, he wished so badly to be with them; unseeing, unfeeling, and unthinking, lying in a shallow pool of his own blood.

888

**"Okay," said Gwen, coming into the weapons room without so much as a warning, arms crossed and hair flying, "What's Arthur up to?"**

**She was greeted with silence.**

**"Um." Offered Elyan helpfully, one hand paused out-stretched in the midst of replacing a dulled training sword onto its proper rack. Percival, most unluckily, was caught halfway out of his chainmail, arms raised, bottom half of his abdomen visible to all the room. When the lady entered, he froze in a red blush, quite at a loss as to whether he should finish removing it or hastily yank it back on.**

**"What do you -"**

**"Come on," Gwen cut across Leon's unfinished question. "I know Arthur, and I know when Arthur is up to something, and Arthur is definitely up to something."**

**Outside the door, a servant with a basketful of vegetable greens gave a soft squeak (though in all fairness that could have been due to Percival's semi-naked state) but she scurried on quickly once Leon rose a disapproving eyebrow at her. Percival, finally making up his mind, hurriedly yanked the mail back onto his body, face beet red when it finally emerged from the top.**

**Leon moved to shut the door.**

**"He's not up to anything." He said, his voice a touch lower, "he's just busy... Post-war business, and that festival and all that. Not to mention Merlin."**

**"What about Merlin?" Gwaine piped up, a tad defensively.**

**"Nothing, just that Arthur considers, er, Arthur likes to-" Leon hesitated, "It's just that Arthur is very involved with Merlin's recuperation process and it keeps him, ah, very occupied. That's all." He finished lamely.**

**Gwen shook her head. "No, he's planning something," she insisted, "He's been meeting with his**

**advisors sometimes three times a day, he always comes out of these meetings looking just a smidge** _**too** _ **pleased with himself, his advisors are always white as a sheet, and he's always walking around the castle grinning and** _**whistling** _ **." She frowned in suspicion.**

**"What, he can't be happy?" asked Elyan.**

**"No, but when was the last time you saw him smile?" She accused.**

**"Not before Merlin came back," Gwaine offered, thoughtful.**

**"Right, well there!" Gwen said, throwing up her hands like that settled it.**

**"Come now," laughed Leon, "a few smiles and a busy schedule are hardly reason enough to-"**

**"He missed practice today." Added Percival.**

**"Well, yes, but he was simply-"**

**"He** _**never** _ **misses training."**

**"Well, he's the King, and sometimes the King get unavoidably detained. He's going to be missing more training sessions, naturally. Surely you don't think that means he's got some sort of wild plan cooking?"**

**Percy merely shrugged.**

**"Look," Leon relented, running a hand through his hair, "Even if he** _**was** _ **up to something and I'm not convinced he is, what do you expect to do about it?"**

**Gwen sighed, crossing her arms. "Nothing. I was just hoping you'd know something."**

**"Well, if he is up to something, he hasn't shared it with me."**

**"Nor me." Elyan said.**

**Percy shook his head. "Hasn't told me either. You don't think, Arthur and Merlin...?" he trailed off, unsure.**

**He was met with several derisive snorts.**

**"Don't be stupid." Leon chuckled.**

**A blond head poked itself in through the door. "Hav- oh! Hello Gwen." Arthur said, clearly taken aback at seeing her in the weapons room.**

**"We've just finished train-"**

**"Yes, very good, listen, have any of you seen Merlin? He wasn't... He wasn't waiting when I got out of the meeting."**

**"Ah, no Sire, but if you have a moment, I-"**

**Arthur interrupted him after a glance down the corridor. "Ah, there he is. Excuse me." And, after flattening down his hair unnecessarily, he was gone.**

**"Yeah... Don't be stupid..." Leon echoed again, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.**

888

They made him walk for a long time.

They made him walk until his thighs and calves ached with the effort of it; until he had to summon all his strength for each step. They made him walk until he gave up all pretense of keeping track of their location and just shut his eyes, blindly following the tugs on his wrists.

He seldom stumbled, for they had long left the forest and now traveled over flat ground. His mind stayed wonderfully blank, his body refreshingly unfeeling, even as he walked directly into the horse that led him and nearly fell over backwards.

He opened his eyes just as the horse gave a start and danced nervously under its rider, who in turn yanked back on the reins and turned round in the saddle to glare at Merlin as if he had done it on purpose.

But Merlin paid him no mind. The sun was just starting to sink as if it, like Merlin, could barely keep itself upright any longer. The stump of his tongue was starting to smart a bit, adding pain to the dull ache of his feet and the sandy dryness of his throat. Yet, he was glad for the physical pain. It was much preferable to dangerous thoughts and feelings. Nothing he felt on the surface of his skin could measure up the black agony of his mind.

So for now, while he could, he relished in it.

Identical grey tents were huddled haphazardly in the grass like small boulders. The emblem of the white tree was visible on each entrance. People in varying states of dress hurried to and fro between them, toting pots and shields and scrolls and armour. Merlin could see smoke rising from several campfires, and in the distance he could see soldiers training with swords. All around them, men began calling out to the returned party, loud voices booming across the field. They did not seem the slightest bit alarmed by the flowing red capes, a fact that rattled Merlin to the core. One tent in particular stood out, as it was slightly bigger than the rest and set in the center of the all the activity. It was from here that a blonde man strode out, headed straight for the bearded man to whose horse Merlin was bound.

Leather saddles protested softly as men began dismounting, stretching loftily and turning to pat winded

horses. No one paid Merlin any mind.

He only feared it would not last.

"Ryker," The blonde man greeted loftily, "I trust all went well."

"Sir," Ryker bowed. "Your plan went very smoothly, my lord Merrick. Camelot did not suspect imposters. The entire eastern- "

"Oh," breathed Merrick, cutting across Ryker's report, as though it bored him. "I see you've brought me a present. How lovely. I've been ever so lonely since my last one jumped off the cliff..." hot breath tickled Merlin's face as he leaned in, eyes sparkling excitedly. Merlin looked away.

Ryker cleared his throat, quickly recovering from the abrupt change of subject. "There is one thing, my Lord. He's slightly, ah, damaged."

"Damaged?" Merrick stood up straight, scowling. His tone changed, suddenly hard and demanding. "Don't tell me you already let your men have their way with him, Ryker, I won't take _spoiled_ _goods_."

"No, my Lord. He hasn't got a tongue."

"No tongue?" Merrick asked, now pouting, petulant.

He leaned in close again, his fingertips trailing softly over the length of Merlin's jaw in a caress not unlike that of a lover's. Merlin's stomach clenched tightly.

"That  _is_  a pity. Even so, he's quite beautiful. Such a pretty face..." his finger ghosted over Merlin's lips.

"Open up for me, boy." He whispered.

Merlin jerked his head away, wrenching his chin defiantly away from Merrick's hand. He felt sick.

Merrick chuckled gleefully. "He's spirited... Excellent." The hand returned, but this time in his hair, rubbing along his scalp, locks of Merlins hair sliding between his gloved fingers. Merrick was petting him like a dog. Merlin shuddered violently, and made to twist away, but Merrick's sickly soothing touch quickly changed. He grabbed a painfully tight handful of Merlin's shaggy hair and pulled down until Merlin's face was at an odd sideways angle. Merlin swallowed back his whimper.

Merrick looked at him appraisingly. "Oh," he simpered with mock pity. "He doesn't like it. Yet." The thread hung as clear as an oath in the air as his lips brushed Merlin's earlobe. The next words misted in his ear, invading his head, and making his blood run cold.

"Oh..." Merrick whispered, "I'm going to enjoy breaking you."

The words echoed in his skull for a lifetime.

888

**Arthur had never been a big reader. Ink on parchment had no pull on him, not like the allure of fresh air and sunshine. When he was sitting, he was stagnating, slowing down and down and down until he completely turned to stone.**

**And it was so** _**boring,** _ **stuck sitting and staring at parchment until he felt his eyes would fall from their sockets. He can never concentrate very long, his thoughts always slipping away like they were coated in soap, no matter how hard he tried to nail them to the paper. He just couldn't understand why people would rather sit still and** _**read** _ **about things that they could actually** _**do.** _ **It was especially difficult now because he could hear the sounds of birds chirping, and distant laughter floating in through the window.**

**But he wasn't reading for himself at the moment (not that he ever really did). No, he was reading for a far nobler cause.**

**He was reading to save a friend; reading to free his best friend from the last dregs of slavery that kept him in it's cold iron clasp; reading to protect a man he thinks he might even love.**

**But it is still dead boring.**

**Every time he felt his focus slipping, he reminded himself of the enormity of his task, the loyal and deserving companion for whom he laboured… yet thoughts of Merlin inevitably lead to, well,** _**other** _ **thoughts of Merlin, which always took him in another direction completely.**

**Then, pink-faced and slightly warm, he would sit until Gaius caught him day dreaming.**

" **Sire? Are you still with me?"**

**He had never taken Merlin seriously when he complained about Gaius being a strict task-master, but now he was able to experience it first hand.**

**Lucky him.**

**He wasn't sure he had ever before felt so useless.**

**Most of the time it felt as if he were reading gibberish - in fact a good third of the time it actually** _**was** _ **gibberish; Gaius insisted it was some other old language or Old Religion something or other, but in his own head Arthur always referred to it as gibberish.**

**And what he** _**could** _ **understand was frightfully boring. He had once read ten pages on the properties and uses of sticklewort and where it could be found only to have Gaius reprimand him a** _**fte** _ **r he finally finished.**

" **Don't waste your time reading that, Arthur," he said, exasperated, "How in the world would that help us get the collar off?"**

**"You told me to read everything in the pile!" Arthur wailed in despair.**

" **Yes, but use your common sense!"**

**Every time he had a suggestion - which was few and far between, to be sure - it was unceremoniously dismissed.**

**"No, no, no," Gaius would say, squinting through his magnifying glass, "That magical containment spell is short term only… do try to be more thorough."**

**He was definitely out of his element.**

**The door opened and Merlin's figure came through, precariously balancing a large tray of meats and cheese in one hand.**

**Merlin never actually helped them research the collar himself. Whether he wouldn't, or if he couldn't, Arthur wasn't sure. They didn't talk about it. But he periodically brought food- and distraction- while Arthur was up to his ears in books in languages he can't read.**

**Arthur knew that Merlin was only being nice, but he almost wished that Merlin wouldn't. He found it increasingly diffivult to concentrate on already boring books whenever Merlin sat and ate with them. Every time Arthur would look up and catch his eye, Merlin would give a cheeky wink and it sent Arthur spiralling into - well. Into non-reading directions.**

**As Merlin passed Arthur to place the tray on the table, he put his hand on Arthur's shoulder and gave it the most sexually arousing squeeze Arthur ever received in his life.**

**It was ridiculous how little physical contact was needed to get him going, it really was.**

**He looked down pointedly, face hot.**

" **Thank you, Merlin." Gaius said.**

" **Yeah, thanks…" Arthur echoed rather lamely, glancing up only briefly to see Merlin give him a wave and a half-smile.**

**There were a few moments of silence in which Merlin read over Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur pretended not to be distracted by his presence. Then some rustling and movement preceded the arrival of a large chunk of bread and some cheese in Arthur's peripheral vision.**

**He waved it away, shaking his head. Arthur had neither appetite, nor desire to eat while so frustrated by their ab** **ysmal progress. He was** _**determined** _ **to find a way to get that collar off.**

**He heard Merlin move to the far side of the room and Gaius's murmured note of thanks following the chink of plate on table.** **Shifting his candle closer to the parchment in front of him, Arthur frowned at his progress. It wasn't long before he could again feel Merlin hovering at his elbow. He was determined to ignore him.**

**The food by his elbow inched closer, insistently encroaching on his workspace.**

**It seemed that now Merlin had a chance to take care of Arthur for once, and he didn't seem likely to let the opportunity pass him by. But after all, Arthur could hardly let Merlin win could he? Lips**

**twitching, he pushed the food, not looking in Merlin's direction. He heard Merlin give an annoyed huff. Rather proud of himself for winning their silent "battle" he turned back to his book, a little smirk gracing his face.**

**That is, until a hand holding a chunk of cheese zoomed right into his face and pressed against his lips.**

**He jumped in surprise, tearing his gaze away from his books. "Merlin!" he hissed under his breath, "No!" He batted it away, shooting a furtive glance at Gaius, who was still absorbed in his work in the corner.**

**Merlin's face was impassive when their eyes met, save for the mischievous glint in his eye as he raised an eyebrow in challenge. Really, Arthur could hardly be expected to let** _**that** _ **slide, could he? He waited patiently until Merlin's hand moved forward again, and opened his mouth cooperatively.**

**When his fingers were close enough, Arthur leaned forward quickly and snapped up the cheese, but continued leaning in until he gently caught Merlin's fingers in his mouth as well. He swiped his tongue along the tips of Merlin's fingers, sucking on them just a bit.**

**Letting out a delighted squeak, Merlin pulled his hand away, eyes sparkling, shoulders shaking with breathy chuckles.**

**Gaius looked up, but seeing nothing wrong afoot other than Arthur's typical struggle to focus, he simply rolled his eyes and continued researching.**

**Arthur capped off his show of bravado with a dramatic wink to Merlin, who, grinning, went to cut another piece of cheese.**

**Arthur turned to look at the pages strewn in front of him, unhappy with what little he had gotten through and dreading the amount he had yet to read. He heard a sharp gasp and turned to see that Merlin had neatly sliced his finger open with the knife and was clutching at the wound.**

**Gaius was already hobbling over, brandishing a magnifying glass.**

**"Let me see," he commanded, peeling Merlin's hand away. He inspected it with an almost detached air. "Rather deep cut for a kitchen accident but nothing life threatening," he pronounced. "I'll treat it just to be safe, we wouldn't want to tempt an infection. Arthur, I've got some Kingsfoil in that jar over there, if you'd be so kind as to retrieve it?."**

**"Nonsense!" Arthur said, waving his hand. Both Gaius and Merlin looked up at him.**

**"I assure you that I do." Gaius said rather uncertainly after a beat.**

**"What? Oh! Yes, no, I'm sure you do." Arthur stood, "It's just, why bother with it at all?"**

**"Why bother? Sire?" Gaius repeated, clearly confused.**

**"Yes. Why bother with with plants and the bandages and all that?" He shrugged. "Seems a bit of a waste of time. Couldn't you just heal it with magic?"**

**Gaius looked flustered. "Well, yes, Sire, I suppose I could, but you see, there's no need to use magic for every little scrape. It's rather a bit of overkill, in this situation."**

**"But you could, right? You could heal it now and he'd be fine?"**

**"Ah, yes."**

**"Would you?" Arthur chances a quick glance at Merlin, follows their conversation despite his apathetic expression.**

**"Why I... I'm not sure its completely appropriate, Sire."**

**Arthur flashed him a grin, settling back to lean on the table. "Why? Because it'll upset the King? Come on, Gaius, I've never got to see proper magic before."**

**Gaius shot a look at Merlin. Merlin shrugged, tilting his head in acquiescence.**

**"Well, alright." Gaius conceded, rather reluctantly, in Arthur's opinion.**

**Gently, he set Merlin's hand on the table, palm up so he could see the cut. Gaius glanced at Arthur nervously, who nodded his encouragement and leaned in eagerly. Gaius cleared his throat, held out his hand, and said a word that sounded, to Arthur, like a child's babbling. (Arthur kept that information to himself).**

**Gaius' eyes flashed gold, and Merlin's hand... remained entirely unchanged.**

**Arthur waited half a second. "Did it work?" he asked, confused.**

**Gaius fidgeted uncomfortably. "Ah, no, Sire. I- its been a while since I've... Let me try again." He raised his hand and, slowly and clearly, repeated the same word.**

**Not wanting to miss anything, Arthur watched carefully, and sure enough... Nothing happened. He leaned back, perplexed. "You know, I sort of thought magic would be more exciting."**

**Merlin snorted. Arthur failed to understand what was so funny.**

**"I- I don't understand, Sire," said Gaius, nonplussed, "there's nothing wrong, no reason for it not to word. Why isn't it..."**

**Arthur stood, stretching. "I guess you'll be needing that Kingsfoil afterall," he said, moving to fetch it.**

**"No- yes, I just... No.** _**Of course** _ **!" The sudden exclamation stopped Arthur in his tracks.**

**"What?"**

**"Don't you see? Its the collar!"**

**"How do you mean?" Asked Arthur, confused.**

**"It doesn't just stop Merlin** _**using** _ **magic, it stops magic from being used** _**on** _ **him, too! Watch!" Gaius uttered a string of foreign syllables.**

**Nothing happened.**

**"See!" he said, pointing at Merlin as if that proved it.**

**"No, I don't see." Arthur said, shaking his head.**

**"I've just tried to turn his hair blonde."**

**"Really?" Arthur tilted his head at Merlin. "I don't think blonde hair would really suit him..." Merlin's face pinked in a slight flush.**

**"Thats hardly the point, Sire."**

**"How do we know that the spell isn't simply the problem?"**

**Gaius muttered something under his breath. His eyes glowed, and Arthur's scalp prickled. "Ah, now there..." Gaius said, sounding satisfied, and Merlin gazed at him appreciatively, a look of mild interest on his face.**

**"What? What is it? What did you do?" Arthur asked, turning on the spot.**

**Gaius held out a small hand mirror, and when Arthur looked in it, he saw that his hair had turned from golden blond to a dark, chestnut hue.**

" **Oh," he breathed, turning his head this way and that. "That's… that is strange."**

" **Do you understand what this means?" Gaius asked, his voice trembling with excitement. "It means the collar stops magic from being used on Merlin. We thought it was containing his magic, simply repressing it, but it's not- instead, separating him from his magic** _ **and**_ **outside magic."**

" **Er. Yes, of course." Arthur agreed, completely confused.**

" **It is as if Merlin is standing between two impenetrable walls," Gaius explained patiently, "On one side is his own magic, on the other is everyone else's magic and he, in the center, is unable to be affected by either."**

**Arthur nodded, even though to him both situations sounded exactly the same. "So, how does this help us?"**

" **Well now we finally know what to look for! We've been researching all the wrong things!" Gaius announced happily.**

" **We- wait what?" Arthur asked, eyes bulging.**

" **This is excellent!" Gaius continued, "We must to get to the library at once!"**

888

Merlin was sent to Merrick's tent. Though from the outside, it was clearly the largest tent, inside it was cramped and scarcely furnished, containing only a cot and a table. It was here that he spent the remainder of the day, trying not to think of the awful fate he knew must await him. Mostly, he laid the on cot, staring blankly into oblivion and did his best not to feel.

He did not try to leave; he did not try to run away or escape. What was the point? He couldn't summon the energy to so much as lift his head. It was obviously some sort of prophesied event that he die in chains, humiliated, dehumanized, beaten and alone and broken.

Slowly, the sun fell through the sky and the rays of light grew weaker and weaker. He was fed neither lunch nor dinner, but could not find the strength to care very much.

When it was dark enough that he could no longer see, he did not go looking for a lantern. Even when the tent's flap was pushed aside, and a figure intruded on his morose, lonely dwelling, he did not turn his head to look. He hardly needed to. It was Merrick's tent after all, and he was supposedly Merrick's slave.

"Hello," Merrick greeted coolly. He placed the lantern he carried on the table. "I understand it's been a rough day," he said, unbuckling his armour until it fell piece by piece to the ground, "which is why you've been given this time to rest. Tomorrow, your work begins. Don't expect to have such freedom again."

Merlin didn't. He didn't expect anything anymore, most especially freedom. Merrick began to undress, laying everything in a neat pile next to the lamp. Merlin continued to stare at the tent's wall, expressionless.

"My name is Merrick. You are my  _personal_  slave. You will be expected to polish my boots and look after my armour. You will sharpen my sword, cook my food, and see to all my personal effects. Your sole concern is my comfort and pleasure. Is that understood?"

He stood before Merlin's cot in only his underthings, looking at him Merlin did not so much as move, Merrick leaned in.

"I said," he asked softly, "is that understood?" it was clear he would not ask again.

Merlin nodded, and the man smiled.

"I think we shall get along splendidly. It's only too bad that you can't talk. I should have liked to hear your voice, and it does seem a horrid waste to disfigure that mouth of yours. After all, you are quite gorgeous, for a slave." He touched Merlin's face, and Merlin managed not to pull away. "Your collar," Merrick went on, "I've seen some like it before, on druids. Did you once have magic?"

Just the mention of it seemed a stab in the chest. He hadn't tried to reach it in so long. What he wouldn't give for some magic now. Again, he nodded, and Merrick seemed pleased.

"Ah," he sighed "such a gift, one I don't mind admitting I've always envied. Were you… were you very talented?"

Another nod, and Merrick grunted. His grip grew alarmingly tight on Merlin's face, pressing him into the bed.

"Such power," Merrick groaned, "It's… intoxicating…" His hand slid south.

Merlin had sworn to himself, promised that he would not resist when this came; and he had known it would come. To resist, he thought, was only to toil in hope, a commodity that he could no longer afford. But when the hand on his stomach slid slowly south, he could not help himself. His stomach clenched, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. Even this touch made him feel vulnerable and dirty.

But the more he resisted, the more Merrick seemed to enjoy it, chuckling darkly as he struggled to pin down Merlin's frantic hands. It only took a few blows from Merrick's fists to leave Merlin gasping but more or less pliant. Merlin told himself he would  _not_  cry, and though he made no sort of sob, tears flowed, uninvited, down his face. He hated himself for it. He hated Merrick. He hated it all.

Knees on either side of Merlin's hips kept him trapped. He was no match for a warrior like Merrick who needed only one hand to keep both of his bound. He couldn't bear to look at Merrick, couldn't bear to see his leering face. He kept his eyes shut, dreaming of other, far off places. Or nearby places, even. Just anywhere that wasn't where he was. But he could still hear the disgusting promises that Merrick whispered hotly in his ear, teeth biting Merlin's earlobe until it bled.

_You belong to me._

_I own you._

_One day, you will love this._

Merlin's only fear was that they were true.

For the first time, his body was invaded, degraded, tainted. Worked-over and sweated on until even his insides were tainted. He was used, he was unclean, and he was sick to his stomach.

The night gave no respite as they shared the bed, Merrick's presence never allowing the hot anxiety in Merlin's stomach to drain. Each time he turned his head he could see it: that blond mop of hair next to him, beautifully sprawled on the pillow like it didn't know it was attached to a monster.

That sickeningly, blond, blond, blond...

888

**Blond hair kept falling in Arthur's eyes, and increasingly impatient, he pushed it away.**

**His mind was filled with a pleasant fuzziness, his fingers tingling slightly. It was like he had drunk several warm tankards of mead. It was as if he walked the line between sleeping and waking and indeed, as in a dream, his actions seem not quite his own. He was at the mercy of the thrumming of blood in his veins; the swell of desire nestling in his groin.**

**Merlin's pale fingers were lost and tangled in his hair and feel of it drove him wild.**

**His teeth scraped against the soft flesh above Merlin's collarbone, and his hands clasped firmly around Merlin's waist, thumbs kneading little circles. His kisses grew lower and lower and lower, his heart tapping against his ribs in excitement. One by one Merlin's body parts slid by like heartbreakingly gorgeous scenery. His pale shoulder, his rib cage, the sharp point of his hip…**

**Arthur's lips were brushing against the seam of Merlin's trousers now, tongue darting out to taste his skin. It was wonderful. He drank in the sensation, trembling slightly. He'd never gotten past this point - never breached the line of Merlin's trousers, though not for lack of want. He felt the familiar itching in his fingers, eager to bury themselves into the warmth, to feel the hot stiffness that he knew lurked under far too many layers of clothing.**

**Merlin's hand tightened in his hair until he could feel several strands pulling loose. He breathed deeply, his hands stroking Merlin's stomach soothingly. His nose took to the fabric like an anchor, and he dragged his face down, breathing in deeply, eyes closed. Through the cloth he could feel the heat, feel the hardness of arousal, and he bit his lip to keep himself from moaning. Arthur dips his head to rub his face rub against it, nuzzling gently. He wants to taste him, feel**

**him, touch him…**

**A choked noise snapped his attention back to Merlin's face. Tears were trailing down pallid cheeks, and Arthur's stomach plummeted. He inwardly cursed himself for becoming so wrapped up in his own selfish desires.**

**"Hey," he whispered softly, climbing back up Merlin's body, "hey, it's alright." As soon as he was near enough, Merlin threw his arms around Arthur's neck and burrowed his head into the crook of Arthur's shoulder.**

**"I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm sorry." Arthur murmured into Merlin's dark hair, his own hand stroking from crown to shoulders. "I'm so sorry Merlin, I shouldnt've..." he felt disgusted with himself.**

**"I'm a total clotpole," he confessed, hoping the use of what he firmly considers to be "their" personal insult would earn him at least a smile, but he couldn't be sure because Merlin's face was hidden in his shoulder. He pressed a delicate kiss in to Merlin's hair for good measure.**

**"I'm sorry," he ventured again, though he thinks this a feeble phrase to express how he truly felt. "Shhh, it's alright..."**

**After several minutes, Merlin nodded off, curled into Arthur's bare chest.**

**Arthur, however, stayed up for a long time.**

888

It was the heat that kept him up.

It seeped through his clothes, through his skin, into his bones, poisoning his mind and tainting his body.

It was disgusting.

And to think he'd spend the better part of the last few years yearning for this kind of warmth as he slept. He'd be so stupid. The warmth made his skin crawl, made him feel like he was being suffocated. The body pressed against his back made him want to rip his eyes out. The face breathing hot, even streams of moist air on his shoulder made his skin prickle. He wanted to vomit.

The bed was not big enough for him to inch away. No matter how he tried, he could not get so much as an inch of space between them, not with Merrick's arm tight around his front.

He hated feeling so confined. Every inch of his skin that touched Merrick's crawled like insects were trapped between them. He could feel their fat little bodies wriggling, their small legs scratching…

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. It was utter hell.

Merlin found himself vowing that, if he could help it, he would never share a bed with another person so long as he lived.

888

**It was the cold that woke him.**

**One moment he was comfortable, wrapped up neatly in a cocoon of sheets with his lover; the next, cold air was rushing in to meet his bare torso. Reflexively, his arm reached out, snagging Merlin's wrist just as Merlin slid off the bed. "Mmm'lin," he groaned, giving Merlin's wrist a gentle tug. But as usual, he did not yield.**

**Grogginess quickly leaving him, Arthur wiped at his face with his free hand, looking up to see Merlin half on, half off the bed, looking sheepish. "Merlin," Arthur said softly, giving his hand a squeeze, "Come back to bed."**

**Biting his lip, Merlin shook his head apologetically.**

" **Stay," Arthur was begging now, "Stay with me tonight. Please."**

**Merlin remained silent, a pained expression on his face. He tugged at his hand a little- not enough to pull free, but enough to let his intentions be known. No matter how Arthur asked, Merlin never slept a full night in the same bed as him. Not once had he ever woken up next to Merlin, and Arthur wasn't ashamed to admit he was dying for it.**

" **Okay, okay," Arthur conceded, though he did not let go of Merlin. "But you're coming to the festival tomorrow, right?" Merlin didn't answer, looking hesitant. Arthur frowned, but he knew how Merlin hated large crowds. "You don't have to stay at the festival, just - promise you'll listen to my speech? Please?"**

**Merlin pursed his lips, and gave his wrist another tug.**

" **Promise." Arthur insisted firmly, "I wouldn't- I wouldn't ask, only I've got- well. It's a surprise. You'll listen?"  
**

**Merlin nodded, looking slightly exasperated, and Arthur finally go of him.**

" **Okay." he sighed softly, as Merlin padded out the door.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Like, for realsies. I know that was way longer than you loyal readers deserved. Next chapter is already in progress, I swear. One more chapter, two tops, and I'll wrap this bad boy up...
> 
> Ten million and two thanks goes to the patient and wonderful Emryslin (AO3) also known as dollopheadoctor (tumblr). She is so amazing and took time out of her busy busy busy schedule to pander to my fanfiction needs. Please appreciate this fantastic person.

Merlin hated the looks the other men gave him, the little smirks that curled around the edges of their mouths, the way their eyes swept over his body like they could see right through his clothes. It was as intrusive as any touch.

He was by no means the first slave to ever be used for sex and he wasn't stupid enough to even entertain the thought that he would be the last, but with Merrick it was different. He was more of an abused pet than a slave. Merrick certainly treated him like a dog, having his way with him and beating him senseless and then getting angry when Merlin wasn't wagging his tail and jumping up and down when he came home at the end of the day.

At first, Merlin was worried he might be loaned out, passed out for all the other men to enjoy. That was before he learned how possessive Merrick could be, dictating when he could eat, when he could sleep, and what he could do all day. That was before he learned that Merrick could get upset if other people even talked to Merlin, not that he could ever answer back. Merlin  _belonged_  to Merrick, and Merrick was determined to control every aspect of him.

That wasn't to say their activities behind thin tent walls went unnoticed. All of Merrick's full uses of Merlin were common knowledge in the camp. In fact, Merrick seemed to prefer it that way.

Once, after Merrick came back from a ride with some of his most trusted officers, Merlin had gone to fetch his horse. Merrick was talking animatedly, mock begging, mock fighting, and gesturing wildly to his groin.

It wasn't until he heard the words that he understood Merrick was recounting their latest nightly struggle, during which Melin had put up quite the fight about opening his mouth for the first time.

He stood frozen, listening to the whole thing as if living it hadn't been hell enough for him. When Merrick caught sight of Merlin's pale and stricken face, he was not abashed or ashamed, merely amused. "Gave me this," He gestured to the scratch on his cheek, the one good swipe Merlin had managed to get in, with a sick sort of pride. "Isn't that right, love?" He smirked at Merlin, raising an eyebrow. "I think he enjoyed it though, in the end. Judging at how eagerly he swallowed my come…"

Merlin's face burned. That was a lie. Merrick had covered his mouth and nose, refusing to let him breathe until he'd swallowed it down.

They'd roared with laughter as he walked away.

Other slaves pitied him, giving him tentative smiles as they passed, but not daring to try and befriend him. They would have had a hard time even if they had. It was difficult to make friends without talking, and nobody had time to sit around and let him write out notes.

Besides, who wanted to be friends with a corpse? Because that's what Merlin was. A walking corpse. It was inevitable that he was going to die here, treated as he was. He'd hang around, letting himself get beaten and raped until Merrick bored of him and then what? He doubted they'd let him stay on as cook.

But it was more than that. Every time he heard "roll over," or "open your mouth," a little more of him died. And every day, more and more of him shriveled away. It didn't matter how hard his heart worked, or how his lungs kept determinedly pumping air into his body… Merlin was already dead.

88

" **It does seem a silly tradition…" Gwen ventured timidly, her fingers swift and confident as she fit the amour's straps around his body. "I mean," she continued, "do they expect you to be attacked in the middle of giving a speech?" She gave him a comforting smile. Arthur knew she was trying to lighten the mood and he was grateful for it, but even so his stomach was twisted up in knots.**

**He'd given speeches before - hundreds of them- without so much as breaking a sweat, but this speech was different.**

**This speech would change the fate of his kingdom- maybe even history itself. There was a lot at stake here. What if his people didn't respond kindly?**

**He took several deep breaths. Everything would be fine. The time had come; the people were ready.**

**"Thank you for doing this, Guinevere," he said weakly. "I really needed a friendly face today."**

**"What about Merlin?" she asked as she brushed non-existent lint from Arthur's cape, "he usually, ah, he didn't want to...?"**

**"No. I didn't ask him. I couldn't."**

**Gwen smiled again. "You've been good to him, Arthur. He's come leaps and bounds."**

**Arthur nodded, slightly pale. "Yes," he said distractedly, gazing at the far corner of the room, running through his speech in his mind for the hundredth time.**

**Gwen seemed to know what he was doing. "you** _**know** _ **it, Arthur." She assured him. "I've never seen you this nervous before a speech."**

**"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "Some speeches are more important than others. People will be looking for comfort after our devastating war. Hand me that scroll? I just want to look at it once more."**

**She obliged, but he couldn't focus on the words with his heart beating so furiously in his ears, and adrenaline pumping through his veins. After barely skimming the first few lines, he put it back down.**

" **They're waiting for you." Gwen said from the window. She had the velvety curtains pulled back just enough to let her peek out.**

**"Do you see Merlin? Is he out there?"**

**"No," she said slowly as she scanned the crowd. Arthur tried not to look disappointed.**

**"I'm sure he's listening, Arthur." she placated. "Ready?"**

**He nodded.**

**"Then good luck." She curtsied. He meant to tell her not to do that anymore (again) but his mouth was very dry, so he simply nodded once more, turned, and marched out into the sunlit balcony before he could rethink what he was doing.**

**The applause was thunderous, and Arthur found himself hoping it was still as enthusiastic when he exited.**

**From his position on the balcony everyone looked small and far away, almost like they weren't even really people at all. This made it easier.**

**Some had hopeful expressions on their faces as they gazed up at him. Others had small flowers tucked between their fingers or in their hair. All of them looked expectant. In the distance he could see the colorful paper lanterns they had strung up between houses. People were ready to honor their dead, celebrate their victory, and look toward happier times.**

**Arthur took a deep steadying breath.**

**"Good Afternoon." he began. He rested his hands on the stones in front of him so he wouldn't he tempted to fiddle with them.**

**"It is only due to the courage of our warriors that I have the great privilege to stand here and address you today. Though there is no way to repay them for their ultimate sacrifice on the battlefield, I offer them the meager thanks of a humbled King; and to their families, my condolences. Know that I share in your sorrow. May we carry their faces in our hearts, and take comfort in the fact that they did not suffer in vain."**

**He paused here, bowed his head and remembered the face of every friend of his who he lost, knowing each person in the crowd was doing the same.**

**"This war," he started anew, raising his chin, "has shown me the true strength of rage, the depths of despair, and the horrors of which men are capable. But it also showed me something greater. I have seen the loyalty and bravery of our soldiers, the power of a comforting word, the unity of my great people, and the joy of reunion.**

**Learning from our past, together, we must build towards a greater and more peaceful future. It is for this reason, with gladness in my heart that I have passed a decree that will bring the great people of Camelot closer together. Together, as we have not been in decades so that we may stand united as one Kingdom of equals."**

**Here he paused again, licking his lips and looking out determinedly to the horizon. "I have dissolved the law my father wrote that made acts of sorcery illegal. Sorcery is no longer a crime in Camelot. The use of magic for good is a craft long forgotten to us."**

**A rumble of murmuring in the crowd made Arthur's heart beat thunderously.**

**"Let us remember that our diversity makes us strong, let it solidify strong bonds of acceptance among us and instill a justice long missing from our lands. We owe it to our fallen heroes to build up from our loss. We will rise up, stronger. Righting this wrong has been a long time in coming, and I know in my heart that Camelot is ready to overcome this obstacle which was instilled with such anger. We will take our hardship and transform it into something good and wholesome. I am proud to lead such a great people. Tonight let us honor those fallen to protect us."**

**And that was it. He turned, red cape swooshing, returned inside, and nearly fell over. Applause began only after he had left the balcony, but he hardly registered it. Sweat had gathered in little beads on his forehead, and he wiped at them weakly.**

**He hadn't realized just how nervous he was while speaking. He didn't even have time to take a few calming breaths before a huge weight hit him directly in the chest.**

**"Arthur," Gwen exclaimed, her curly hair flying into his face, "You were wonderful!"**

**He exhaled in relief. "Do you think so?"**

**"You were great, Arthur! It's wonderful news!"**

**"It went okay?"**

**"Listen!" she stepped back, flapping her hands emphatically, eyes bright, "Arthur, shh! Listen!"**

**He fell silent, and immediately heard the chant coming from outside: "Long live the King! Long live the King!"**

**Arthur let out a laugh of pure relief, and for a moment he and Gwen simply stared at each other, eyes and smiles glowing. It was almost like old times when their relationship was so easy and everything was happier.**

**But in the silence, Gwen seemed to remember herself.**

" **Well, Sire," she said, the note of propriety back in her voice, "We'd better get you to the Banquet hall. You've got a feast to attend."**

**Two armed guards followed them from the doorway and down the hall, flanking Arthur on either side. He wondered briefly if they had heard his speech through the door at their posts, and if they had, what they thought of it. Their faces were as stoic as ever.**

**He put the matter from his mind. It hardly mattered what two guards thought anyway. All the Advisors, Council Members, Dukes and Duchesses would be at this banquet. He would be getting his feedback all too soon.**

" **Merlin?" Gwen's question made him look up just in time too see Merlin bursting through the door at the far end of the hall, to the consternation of a few more guards.**

" **Merlin?" Arthur echoed Gwen. It wasn't that he wasn't pleased to so Merlin, but he had made it pretty clear that he didn't want to be around all the crowds and the people and the fuss that was sure to accompany the celebration today. "Merlin!" His cry turned surprised as Merlin sprinted down the hallway, headed straight for him.**

**He managed to grab Merlin round the waist, catching him just as he threw his arms Arthur's neck. He laughed in delight, and spun them both on the spot right before Merlin grabbed his chin and crushed their mouths together.**

**They kissed like fools in love: desperately, enthusiastically, like they'd never have another chance again. And Arthur didn't give a damn who saw them.**

88

Merlin spat out a mouthful of hot blood, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His stump of a tongue had been continually getting better right up until foreign objects started being shoved into his mouth. The constant abrasion did not exactly encourage healing. In front of him, Merrick did up his trousers.

Catching his breath, he noticed a long crimson streak was left on his skin, and he rubbed it halfheartedly on his clothes as he made to stand up. But he didn't make it very far. A hand, cold and unyielding as death, stopped him, forced him back down. Knees he thought numb suddenly proved him wrong with stabbing pains that traveled through his bones and into his thighs.

His stomach lurched weakly. The thing Merlin hated most about Merrick was his unpredictability. There was no telling how much Merrick wanted to control him on a given day. Sometimes he'd rather ignore Merlin than deal with him and other days… well, other days he was like  _this._

And Merlin cooperated with every second of it. Because, in the end, he was only a slave.

With a heart like lead, he felt Merrick's hand travel down from his now ridiculously shaggy hair and onto his neck. He kept his head down, his gaze among the leaves and twigs and remaining bits of his dignity - if there were any.

The touch retreated mercifully onto his collar where Merlin could not feel their icy touch and yet he shivered anyway. The ran along the collar's edge, stroking, almost  _lovingly._ For an army fighting for magic, they were surprisingly unconcerned about Merlin's loss of it. They knew full well what his collar meant, yet no one offered to attempt to remove it. Did that mean it couldn't be done? Or did they leave it because they knew Merrick's affixiation on it? He did not know which he prefered.

Either way, it hardly mattered. He was still sucking the same dick.

Merlin closed his eyes, and just waited for it to end. In the darkness of his own mind he was unprepared for when he was snapped forward by the metal of his collar, his breath catching in his throat.

Hot, vicious, lips were crushed quickly to his, his body bowed forward in such an awkward position he had to throw out his hands to avoid falling. He kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, he would have seen Merrick. Closed, why, anybody in the world could be kissing him.

A wet tongue slid through his lips, sharp teeth scraped his lip, a kiss at the corner of his mouth. It lasted a lifetime, maybe two. He didn't look up until it was over. Merrick had Merlin's jaw in his hands, his life in his pocket, and a satisfied look on his face.

"Oh," He sighed happily, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Bile rose in his throat. Why did he have to enjoy it? Why couldn't he just endure it? Was that not enough? He felt his palms beginning to sweat. He wanted to let his face fall back down, so he wouldn't have to meet Merrick's hard gaze, but Merrick's firm hand wouldn't let him escape. When he didn't immediately answer, Merrick gave his head a rough shake. He would have to answer.

Merlin swallowed the sour taste back down his throat. He gave a nod- or an approximation of one, at least, but it seemed to be enough. Merrick pressed a far too tender kiss to his forehead.

" _Now_ , you may eat." he granted before striding away, hands held folded gracefully behind his back, chin held high. In a sort of sick way, Merlin envied him, and he hated that.

Stumbling to his feet, he retched several times, stomach heaving like a boat on the waves, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. After a few moments of gasping and gagging, he managed to get some breaths of air down his throat. Closing his eyes and holding his beaten head in his hands, he forced himself to take deep breaths.

" _There now,"_ he thought as he leaned heavily against a tree, " _see, that's better… It's alright… Everything's fine."_ He was lying to himself and he knew it, but it seemed that all anyone ever said to him anymore was a lie so he might as well join in. Besides, if he said it enough times, he might even start to believe himself. At least he could eat now.

Stomach bubbling dangerously, Merlin finally manage to stand upright, stretching out his sore joints and limbs. Now that Merrick had left him he felt better: less nauseous and far steadier. Just Merrick's presence, the mere fact that he was close, put Merlin on edge. Even  _thinking_  about him, his desires, his lust… knowing what he had done to Merlin's body, knowing what was going through Merrick's mind when he looked at him, and worst of all knowing it would happen again and again and again and Merlin was powerless to stop it. It was enough to make anyone sick.

He blinked eyes that were far too watery for his liking and stood again, shaking on bandy legs. He bent slightly to brush grass, dirt and pride from his knees, trying to focus on his lunch and nothing else. He desperately wished for some water, so that he might rinse his mouth. But his thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the bushes behind him, and he spun around with a jolt, realizing he wasn't alone. His only just-calmed heart began to pound anew as his eyes raked the landscape feverishly. He and Merrick hadn't been very well hidden, hardly twenty feet from the last tent and behind some trees. He felt the blood drain from his face.

If someone had seen them, watched him perform such a debasing act (and claim to like it) for food like an eager dog - Merlin couldn't bear it. He could not bear such humiliation, such disgrace. There was no point in pretending that nobody knew what was going on. The whole encampment was all too aware of how Merrick's used his slaves, but knowing and seeing were very different. If someone caught him in the act, it was like it all became real. Merlin couldn't handle that. A half-choked sob broke free from him as he spun aimlessly, the world blurring before him, trying to find his intruder…

Then there she was. Her little face perhaps just as scared and pale as his. Merlin's heart dropped. There was no telling how much this child had seen; and what she understood from what she  _had_ seen, for she could not have been older than eight. He would have liked to think her innocence intact, but she was a slave too, so he knew better. He did not think it was possible for him to feel more loss, more sadness, yet in his chest something stirred for this poor, dirty, girl. At least he had had his childhood.

He wondered if her mother was a slave, too. He wondered if her mother was alive. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and scared.

Still, this was no place for a child to be wandering around. There was no telling what dangers she might run into. The people here weren't kind. They wouldn't care for her. She would have to look out for herself, and the sooner she learned that, the better. He had to scare her off. It was for her own good, really. He only wanted the best for her.

He pulled a gruesome face, baring his teeth (perhaps they were even still red from with blood), screwing up his eyes, and wrinkling up his nose. He saw, with some satisfaction, that she jumped ever so slightly, but she did not run. No, she stood there and contemplated his face with a awestruck look that seemed to say  _I didn't even know faces could_  do _that._ And before Merlin knew what was going on, she'd returned the favor, imitating his own face, giving it back to him.

He had to admit he hadn't seen that coming.

He was forced to stray from his fool-proof plan. He contorted his face three more times, and she hurled them effortlessly back,each time more quickly than the last. Then with a giggle and a smile, she carried on her way as cool as you please.

Unless Merlin was very much mistaken, he'd just made himself an unlikely friend.

88

" **Are you ready, Merlin?"**

**Gaius had a small leaflet of pages in front of him, all filled to bursting with his loopy scrawl. Of course, that was nothing compared to the messy explosion of books and scrolls, ink and parchment that covered his table, and overflowed onto the floor, on his shelves, the windowsill; every flat surface was completely and thoroughly wallpapered. Arthur was sure Gaius had at least half the library holed up in his small quarters. Arthur couldn't have read most of it it even if wanted to, because it was all written in the language of the Old Religion, a language that was still, even after all of his research, a great mystery to him. That, and he had done enough reading these past few weeks than he** _**ever** _ **wanted to do again.**

" **Now keep in mind," Gaius continued, his withered hands fiddling nervously with his stack of parchment, "This is only our sixth attempt. We may have to make more adjustments. I don't want anyone to get their hopes up. After all, this is experimental in nature."**

**Arthur didn't think Gaius had to worry on the front. Merlin looked about as hopeful as someone who was told they were about to be punched in the groin. Stony-faced, he was seated on the only clear chair, arms folded, looking chalky.**

**After their first try at removing the collar had failed, Merlin had been very… well, "upset" didn't really cover it. There had been tears, harshly scrawled words, and a vase had met its unfortunate end (though it had been hideous anyway, so no real harm done.)**

**It had taken Arthur quite some convincing to get Merlin to agree to try again at all, and his agreement had been delicate to say the least.**

**Arthur would have thought that Merlin would jump at a chance to be rid of that dreadful thing around his neck, and he hadn't been the only one taken aback by his initial refusal.**

**To his surprise, he'd found himself being questioned by Gaius, who was also desperate to know more of Merlin's past, and he gently asked Arthur what he knew of the time Merlin's spent enslaved, in the hopes that Merlin had confided in him. Shame faced, Arthur had to admit that he knew little more than Gaius. He added what precious knowledge he could - the mess of whip scars on Merlin's back, the dog bite he had received while trying to escape, and his suspicions about the sexual abuse. Gaius then confessed what he knew - only that Merlin had changed masters three times before ending up in the hands of one of Morgana's own warlords.**

**Arthur knew he had to respect Merlin's need for space. He couldn't force him to talk about painful memories that he clearly didn't want to discuss. But he lamented in his lack of information. It was difficult to help Merlin, not knowing what nightmares he'd lived through.**

**So it was with great caution and a heavy heart that he had approached Merlin later, asking only after his reluctance to take the collar off.**

" **Help me to understand, Merlin, please," Arthur had pleaded, one hand raking through his hair so often he was sure it was now standing on end. He was pacing relentlessly back and forth in front of his fireplace while Merlin sat at the table, knees pulled up, looking uncomfortable.**

" **I thought that you would be as eager to get that - that** _ **disgusting thing**_ **off of you as I am, and I don't understand why you're not. I didn't think that this would be an issue, quite the opposite, in fact."**

**He sighed heavily, shooting a cursory glance at the infuriatingly explanation-free parchment sitting in front of his former servant.**

" **I'm not going to force you into anything, Merlin, of course I won't, but I want to help you move on from your past. Only you're choosing to stay in it and I just don't understand. I'm not asking for a confession, or an autobiography, I only wish I could understand what the problem is."**

**He came to a halt finally, to stand with his arms crossed, facing the flames and hoped Merlin hadn't caught him wiping furiously as a stubborn tear fought it's way out his eye. When he spoke next, his voice had lost its harsh edge, turning to something weak and trembling.**

" **If… if you knew, Merlin, if you knew how hard it is to look at you with that** _ **thing**_ **on you, to see you in so much pain…" he shook his head, and had to clear his throat before he continued. "If I had just found you sooner, you wouldn't be suffering like this. It's my fault. I don't know how you can even stand to touch me. I just… I just want to help."**

**Warm hands brushed his jawbone, tugging his head sideways so Merlin could kiss his cheek. A ripped off bit of parchment was pressed neatly into his hands, and Merlin watched, chin propped on Arthur's shoulder, as he read.**

_**I'm afraid it'll never come off. Every time we try, I lose a little hope. I've no hope left. I'm sorry.** _

" **You've nothing to be sorry for," Arthur murmured, twisting around to hold Merlin's waist. He rested their foreheads together. "If you've no hope," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of Merlin's back, "Have faith in me. I'm the King of Camelot, remember? If I can't even get a collar off my best friend what am I good for, right?" He smiled, and paused to kiss the tip of Merlin's nose.**

" **I don't want to see you like this. I don't want to rest until you're free of it, but I can't if you won't let me. If we don't** _ **try...'"**_

**Merlin, eyes downcast, nodded ever so slightly, though he didn't exactly look convinced.**

**Grinning, Arthur pulled him in close. "Good," he breathed, "besides, I have enough hope for the both of us."**

**So now, standing in Gaius's quarters for what seemed the hundredth time, Arthur kept Merlin's words in mind, and he was glad to hear Gaius try to ebb the flow of their collective excitement.**

**Due to the clutter, Arthur had forgone a chair to instead lean on the wall, basking in the last of the day's light filtering in through the window. He shifted to make himself comfortable - he'd done this enough times to know it was going to be a while.**

**Merlin, fiddling with his hands in his lap, shot Arthur a questioning look. Arthur nodded his encouragement.**

" **Alright then," Gaius cleared his throat, "let's begin."**

**He started to read from the papers in front of him, and Arthur began to wait. It took** _**ages** _ **. First of all, the collar took a myriad of enchantments to get it to work the way it did, and it took an equally large amount of counterspells to undo it. Secondly, despite their mountains of research, there was no way they could pinpoint the exact spells that had been used when the collar was made. Therefore they had to overreach, make sure they covered every possible spell that could have been used.**

**It took quite a while. The most infuriating part - besides not knowing if it would work - was the fact that he had looked up hundreds of words, recopied endless spells and yet, he still had no idea what was being said. Granted, he caught a word every now and then like "contain" or "magic" or "unite," but overall it was like listening to a speech in a foreign language, which is ultimately what he was doing, he supposed.**

**Arthur rolled his head in circles, stretching out his neck as Gaius flipped to yet another page. Every so often, Merlin's gaze sought out his, brimming with anxiety, and each time Arthur tried his best to assure him only his eyes and his smile, to fill him with his own hope and love.**

**Gaius droned on until Arthur wished he could sit down. The sun slowly yawned its way across the sky. Gwen had initially wanted to stay with them and watch too, but experience had told them the fewer people present when their spell failed, the better. And after a gentle yet pointed explanation of this, she reluctantly agreed to wait outside.**

**Arthur was just glad he was allowed in - like he was the carrier of a precious secret. After all it's not like he was necessary personnel. Gaius said the spell and he stood still and looked pretty. He was there for moral support only. He had offered to wait outside once too, but Merlin had declined, a fact that pleased him to no end.**

**Merlin shifted uneasily in his chair as Gaius cleared his throat, beginning to feel the effects of so much talking. He was close to the end, now. Arthur straightened up, no longer leaning casually against the wall. He was tense, ready to see some results, eager to act (or at least jump in with comforting words and pacifying kisses).**

**Gaius's voice rose theatrically, swelling as he reached the climax of his speech. His last words fell**

**from his mouth like a hammer on the anvil - final, and ringing.**

**Arthur had been expecting something dramatic: a gust of wind, maybe some sparks, at least some magical fog.** _**Something.** _ **None of that happened.**

**For a moment, there was nothing, just the echoing silence that reverberated endlessly around the room, telling them that they had failed again. Arthur let out a hollow breath, letting his head hang. To think he had cajoled Merlin into this huge disappointment once again.**

**But then there was the smallest of clicks. Arthur's head snapped up. A neat crack appeared on the rim of the collar, a clean cut near the side of Merlin's neck, staring back at him like it had been there all along and they'd just failed to notice.**

**It swung open as if on a hinge, and with a deafening clatter fell to the floor.**

**Silence.**

**It was impossible that something that had haunted their lives so completely fell away with the smallest of whimpers. An almost inaudible click and it fell away, just like that. No theatrics, no bangs or flashes. Somehow, it didn't seem fair.**

**An astound chuckle broke free from Arthur, throwing the room into the warmth of his laughter. He could scarcely believe it. Stunned, Merlin reached up to his neck tentatively, feeling the pale stripe of skin where the collar used to lie. He had a fantastic tan line.**

" **Merlin!" Arthur leapt forward from his place on the wall, wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin in a crushing hug.**

**He turned, and in his state of joy, hugged Gaius too. "You've done it!" he shouted. Gaius patted him uncertainly on the back. Despite his close relationship to the physician, they'd never embraced before, and when he let go of the old man it was with a certain degree of awkwardness. But Arthur wouldn't let that get too him, not now when something so marvelous had happened.**

" **Merlin," even Gaius was wide-eyed with excitement, "Can you do magic? Can you feel it?"**

**Merlin closed his eyes and tilted his head back like he was bathing in sun, a smile sliding over his face. A small, warm breeze began to stroll through the room though all the windows and doors were shut. It grew strong and stronger, filling the room until the papers that filled every surface began to dance.**

**A joyous laughter rang like bells through the room, bouncing off the walls and making Arthur's heart swell, and his spirits soar.**

" _ **I can feel it… I can feel it, Arthur."**_

**It was strange. He didn't hear the voice with his ears and yet it heard it plain as day. It was as if it were one of his own thoughts, but the voice did not belong to him. His face paled. "Merlin!" he gaped, "Is- is that-?"**

**Gaius gave a deep rumbling, laugh. "Do you hear it too, Sire?"**

" **Hear what? What am I hearing?"**

" _ **It's how the Druids communicate."**_ **Arthur shivered. That was definitely going to take some getting used to. "I'm not a Druid."**

" **And so you cannot answer back - at least not with your mind." Gaius explained, grinning affectionately at Merlin, "It's not surprising that he can bend the rules of magic a bit. Pushing thoughts into peoples' heads shouldn't be** _ **too**_ **hard for the most powerful sorcerer in existence."**

" **The most- you've got to be joking!"**

" _ **Is that doubt I'm hearing?"**_ **Merlin asked playfully.**

**It was** _**so good** _ **to hear his voice.**

**Gaius crossed the room to dark trunk, stooping down to open the lid and rummage inside. Standing up, he had a red square of fabric clutched firmly in his hand.**

" **Here," he held it out to Merlin. "That really is a ghastly stripe on your neck, Merlin."**

**Grinning, Merlin tied the handkerchief around his neck, and suddenly it was like he had never left at all. He looked so happy, so much like he did before this nightmare began, smiling up at Arthur like he was ready to take the world by storm.**

**Arthur threw his arms around Merlin again, burying his head in the crook of Merlin's neck, never mind that Gaius stood not two feet away. Merlin reciprocated, squeezing his arms tightly around Arthur's shoulders, unable to stop smiling, his heart pounding.**

" **It's so good to hear your voice," he breathed, "so good. You've no idea."**

**Merlin's hand curled into the fabric of Arthur's shirt, like he was hanging on for dear life.**

" _ **I know, Arthur, I know."**_

88

The warmth that encased his hands was better than gloves, and  _definitely_  better than human contact. A few months ago, he'd have chopped off a finger to get someone to touch him - not sexually, just a pat on the back, a handshake, a hug,  _anything._  Now he'd chop off a finger to get it to  _stop._  It was so ironic it was almost funny, but Merlin was far from laughing.

He inhaled deeply. It smelled  _so_  good. Eating was his favorite part of the day, and he'd been looking forward to this since he woke. Unlike Boan's farm where he was only fed table scraps, here he ate what all the other servants ate, and it was glorious. He stared lovingly into his soup bowl, admiring the chunks of potatoes and meat, and thought hard about how they used to taste, how they used to felt on his tongue. If he concentrated hard enough when he ate he could almost taste it.

He was jarred roughly from behind and the broth in his bowl sloshed around dangerously. He brought it close to his chest, like he could protect it from the world. Nothing spilled, but he resolved to squirrel his meal away, eat it somewhere safe, enjoy it in peace, away from all the people gathered around the cooking fire.

He looked around sharply, searching for a good spot. There's not much in the way of landscape - lots of tents, the edge of the forest too far to be a viable option.

"Merlin!"

Shit.

With his tongue in Merlin's ear, Merrick had had him carve his name into the dirt with shaking hands. He'd considered giving a fake one, but what was the point in lying? Now each time Merrick said his name he wished he had.

No where to run, no where to hide; he was trapped like the beaten dog he was, tail between his legs. A rather fitting analogy, he thought to himself, though of course a dog might have an actual chance at escape.

" _Merlin!"_ Just the tone of Merrick's voice made Merlin freeze instantly, his blood like ice water.

He shuffled slowly on the spot, turning reluctantly to see Merrick barreling toward him with wildness gleaming in his eyes. He tightened his grip on his soup. Merlin He hated the hold Merrick had over him; he hated always having to ask himself  _what now?_ Ask least with Boan he knew why he was being hit. Here things were so chaotic they boarded on meaningless, and Merlin stopped correlating cause to effect.

 _Wham,_  a fierce flesh-colored smack… but not on his face. He managed to keep his grip on the bowl, but that isn't terribly helpful when its contents were sailing through the air. Just that quickly, his whole day, his hope and excitement, his  _heart_  was soaking into the dirt with the broth. His hands, scalded by the hot soup, were stiff and shaking. The bowl slipped from his grasp and flopped to the ground, as empty and useless as its owner.

Twin needles pricked at the backs of his eyes and hot liquid bubbled up, filling his vision with wet, stinging shame. He didn't know how to explain it, he  _couldn't_ explain it, how one  _stupid_  bowl of food was the entire world to him, life or death to him. Some of the broth had sloshed down his shirt, leaving a dark, blotchy trail. He could not stand the idea of all that food wasted. He resolved to suck it from the cloth the first chance he gets.

"Merlin, you stupid cock-sucking son of a bitch!" There was another slap and this time it does hit his face- a sharp pain slashed across his cheek like the graze of a sword. It took all his self control, but he managed not to reach up and hold his stinging cheek. He kept his head down. Submissive was always best here.

Submissive was always best.

"Did I tell you you could eat yet?  _Stupid_ , disobedient fool!"

His lips trembled slightly, but he pressed them together. He  _had_  given Merlin permission to eat, not five minutes ago, after Merlin had finished washing Merrick's clothes. But there was no way he could defend himself without talking. There was no way he could apologize either. Thank heaven for small mercies.

It didn't matter. This question had no right answer. Either way he was going to get hit. He hunched his shoulders in anticipation, breaths shortening, heart quickening.

" _Well?"_ Merrick wasn't going to let it drop. He wanted to hear Merlin say it.

He pursed quivering lips to still them, keeping his gaze fixed on his feet. A deep breath and a shake of his head. No, he'd never been given permission to eat, yes, he was a disobedient slave.

A third slap, this time to his other cheek, and Merlin stumbled back a few paces. Several voices chuckled, some murmuring unintelligible things to each other. Merlin had almost forgotten about everyone watching him… now that he could feel the full burden of their stares, he wondered how it was possible that he hadn't before. It felt like a yoke on his shoulders, so heavy he felt as if he might be pulled into the earth himself. He wished he would. The humiliation was nightmarish, shame stained his cheeks.

"Oh come on, Merrick," one voice was in front of the crowd, "Let the boy go…"

" _No!"_ He spat it out, face contorted, eyes ablaze, "No, he has to be punished, he has to learn his place!" He snatched Merlin's arm in a grip of iron, dragging him forward even as Merlin dug his feet into the earth. "If he acts like a child, he shall be treated as one!"

Soldiers around the fire shook their heads, rolled their eyes, and watched with poorly disguised interest. Merlin felt sick. He was flung unceremoniously forward, and lost his footing, his palms and knees stinging when they slammed against the hard earth. Disoriented, he scrambled to turn over, eyes searching desperately for the object of his nightmares, the cause of his fear. It rolled off him in waves and he had no doubts Merrick picked up on it. Like a fish on a hook, Merlin's eyes caught on Merrick. He bore down on Merlin, a thin reed swinging menacingly in his hand and his blonde, dirty hair in his dark and angry clouds overhead cast Merrick in shadow as he advanced.

Merlin shook his head, asking in the only way he knew how to. He wasn't above begging, not anymore. Not if it took the pain away. The unforgiving toe of Merrick's boot pressed into his side, rolling him effortlessly into his front. Before he could so much as blink a weight fell heavy onto his thighs, trapping him.

His fingers dug into the earth, as if he could crawl away, as if he could escape. Maybe if he dug deep enough, the earth would collapse beneath him and he could slip into sweet nothing.

He clutched at his trousers, giving a wild grunt that was all he had left of the word 'no'. It did him no good. Merrick had a firm grip on them and with one swift heart-stopping yank his bare arse was exposed to a chorus of hearty chortling and catcalls.

It was surreal, like a nightmare about being naked in public, only the details were far too sharp - the breezy absence of clothing, the dry grass beneath his curled fingers, and above all else that could convince him wasn't dreaming, the pain - oh, the pain. Stinging burns, like he was lashed with thin tendrils of fire. Again and again and again, heat bloomed across his backside. The pain, at least, he was familiar to. The humiliation, he was not.

So exposed, so vulnerable, being punished out in the open. The sound of laughter filled his ears, the weight of stares holding him down. His face was perhaps as red as his backside and he dropped his face to the ground to hide it, covering his head with his arms and letting the smell of earth fill his nostrils, letting the grass tangle in his fingers.

He didn't try to crawl away; he didn't try to fight the way he might have before - he didn't want to add to the spectacle. Besides, there was no escape. He kept his head on the ground and pretended he was elsewhere, waiting for his circulation to return to his numbing legs. He looked up for only one second, too see just how many eyes were boring into him, out of some kind of sick curiosity.

Even though the world buckled in his watery eyes - as unstable, perhaps, as Merlin's delicate future, he saw one face clearly: the pale, scared, and tear-stained face of a little girl.

88

" **Merlin," Arthur sighed, his hand stilling as Merlin's body stiffened up for the third time, "It's okay. We don't have to do this." As soon as he said it, guilt rose up to the surface of his skin like bubbles in champagne because he** _ **really**_ **hoped Merlin wouldn't rescind his offer.**

" _ **No, keep going. I want to."**_ **Arthur shivered. He still wasn't used to that.**

" **Okay," he kissed Merlin's temple. "Just relax." Merlin took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his muscles relax.**

" **That's it," Arthur encouraged, letting his mouth slide across Merlin's, darting out his tongue to taste him, suck on his swollen lips. Body steaming, skin buzzing, he drifted lower, giving that jawline all the attention it deserved. He lavished Merlin's neck, nibbled his collarbone, mouthed at his shoulder. His heart hammered so hard in his chest he found it hard to believe that Merlin couldn't feel it, their bare chests pressed together as they were. It was still hard to believe that he got to touch this, this beautiful man. He got to touch and kiss and hold; he was the luckiest man in the entire world, that, he was convinced of.**

**He was determined to take it slow, consider Merlin's every want, to be the most perfect, kingly, gentleman. Tonight Merlin had asked Arthur to touch him, caress him, to bring him to his fullness, yet each time his hand strayed lower than Merlin's prominent hip, his body tensed like a coil.**

" **Merlin," he tried again, gently, "Please, I don't want to push you." He kissed his cheek, "I don't mind waiting. I'll wait forever for you. Let's just take it slow."**

" _ **No, please! I want this. I want**_ **you** _ **."**_

**Arthur studied his face for a moment, studying the creases in his forehead, the gleams in his eyes, looking for signs of honesty and of hesitance.**

" **You know," he cleared his throat idly, looking down at Merlin's anxious face resting on the pillows between his hands, "you don't…** _ **owe**_ **me anything because I legalized magic. I did it because it was right, not because I wanted to please you."**

" _ **I know that,"**_ **Merlin huffed,** _ **"I only- can I- let me change your hair. Please. Just- just for a bit."**_

**Arthur rose an eyebrow at him. "You want to- cut my hair?"**

" _ **No, it's just, um, my las mast- the last man I… he was blonde. Too."**_ **He turned his head, not quite meeting Arthur's stare, though he could plainly feel it.** _ **"When,"**_ **he swallowed and began again,** _ **"When I look down, I see… your hair."**_ **Arthur felt him shudder beneath him.** _ **"I hate it."**_

**Arthur reached out to touch his chin gently, turning his head forward to kiss his lips, sweetly. "Yes, Merlin, of course you can."**

**His eyes flashed golden and Arthur's scalp gave a familiar prickle. Merlin smiled up at him, grinning.** _**"You know, I quite like you in this color."** _

**Arthur grinned back, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so? And what color might that be?"**

" _ **Dark brown. Almost black. It suits you. Brings out your eyes."**_

**Arthur chuckled, "You find me very handsome, then?"**

**Merlin blushed.** _**"Don't be such a dollophead, you know I do."** _

**Arthur kissed him lightly, reveling in the feeling of Merlin's hands tangled in his hair. His thumb stroked Merlin's cheek gently as he pressed their bodies together, enjoying their shared heat. A thought suddenly occurred to him as his tongue was lathing broad stripes against the pale skin of Merlin's neck, and he snapped his head up, gazing down at Merlin and biting his lip.**

**Merlin's hand had been stroking the back of neck, but when Arthur stopped, his hand stilled and he looked up with confusion on his face.**

" **I- I think you're handsome, too." he gave a quiet chuckle, "Beautiful, actually. Gorgeous. I think you are the most alluring, magnificent, stunning creature."**

**Merlin smiled widely, his cheeks tinting in a lovely shade of pink. He pulled Arthur's face down, and kissed him fiercely. Enamored, consumed, Arthur's hands wandered. They slid down Merlin's sides, grazing over his nipples, pinching and them into hardness. As he sucked at the line of his collarbone, his hands felt each of his ribs. They hovered at his waist, his fingers explored the slight divet of his belly button, and his heart was so full he thought it might burst. He felt the light smattering of hair that let up to his naval, running his thumb over it and following it down… down to the waistband of his trousers. He slipped a thumbnail underneath, his heart pounding, his palms moist and damp, his mouth firmly attached to the soft flesh behind Merlin's ear.**

**Merlin gasped and then stopped breathing, hands curled tightly by his sides, speaking all manor of displeasure, his eyes squeezed shut. Arthur pulled back swiftly, studying Merlin's scrunched face for a moment. Merlin peeped open one blue eye.**

" **Okay, that's it." Arthur shook his head. "I'm not doing this."**

**Merlin's started, his eyebrows shooting up in distress.** _**"What? No! No, Arthur, please, I want to, really I do! Just keep going, I just have to- to push past it."** _

" **No," Arthur tucked his hands underneath Merlin's shoulders and with one swift motion flipped them over so that Merlin was on top. "You're going to do me."**

**Merlin seemed surprised, but he settled himself down, straddling Arthur's hips calmly.** _**"Okay."** _ **He nodded, looking interested.**

**Arthur's hands found Merlin's hips and held them firmly. Slowly, Merlin leaned down, brushing his lips against Arthur's throat in a chaste kiss.** _**"I don't… I don't know how you like it."** _ **He ventured.**

**Arthur snorted. "Take my word on this one, Merlin. I'm going to like anything you do."**

**With what Arthur firmly believed to be a devilish smile on his face, Merlin leaned down, grazing his mouth against Arthur's, letting his hands warmly squeeze his broad shoulders. His mouth ventured downward, making stops to visit Arthur's earlobe and neck, using just enough teeth to extract a gasp from those plump lips, being just rough enough to leave the skin a ravished pink.**

**His hands were busy brushing over Arthur's skin, feeling the cut of his chest, admiring the depth of the strength that hid in his muscles. Then his mouth sealed over a peaked nipple, sucking and biting and nosing at it. Arthur tried to control his shaky breaths, his arms wrapped around Merlin and holding on for dear life as Merlin's hand drifted lower and lower, batting the beehive in Arthur's stomach and sending its inhabitants wild.**

**He bit the inside of his cheek, his hands falling into the sheets as Merlin pulled back, turning his attention to the bulge in Arthur's trousers. His hands worked deftly at the laces there and soon Arthur was greeted with a bout of cold air as his hard cock sprang free.**

**Merlin brought his face close to investigate and Arthur had to turn his head away, the sight of Merlin's face that close to his groin was too much to handle. He tried to control his breathing as his face flushed slightly. He couldn't help but be a little nervous. There'd been others, yes, a noblewoman here, a scullery maid there, but none of them were important. Not a single one of their opinions about his body had mattered in the slightest. He'd wanted touch, intimacy, any human connection to remind him he wasn't alone in the world. A quick romp and they were out of his bed before he could so much as catch his breath. It was lonely at the top… or at least it had been.**

**Here, with Merlin running his fingers across the hot skin of his shaft, it was different. Merlin wasn't just important, he was** _**the most** _ **important - the only person who mattered. Arthur wanted to protect him, to impress him, to please him, and the fact that Merlin was so unfortunately** _**experienced** _ **in this area made everything so much more complicated. But he would gladly surrender, freely give himself over for Merlin like he'd never done before.**

**Just knowing it was Merlin's hand curling around his member, swiping at his head, was enough to bring a distinctly undignified whimper to Arthur's lips. He'd barely begun, and yet he felt sure that Merlin need only give the word Arthur would come. His face pressed in closely, so close he could feel hot breath when Merlin breathed out and cold air as he breathed in, taking in the sight and scent of Arthur's arousal. Ridiculously sweet kisses were marching a line up his dick as if he were something to be savored, something to be adored. He bit his lip, not wanting to embarrass himself with any more strange noises.**

**Fingers were now trailing across his mouth, nudging insistently against his lips, looking for entrance. Arthur complied, letting his tongue dance against the flesh of Merlin's hand, drawing sloppy pattern. Merlin couldn't wet his own hand.**

**He unceremoniously removed himself from Arthur's mouth as soon as he deemed his hand slick enough, and all too quickly it was wrapped around his throbbing dick. Arthur groaned, determined to keep his hips from bucking into the friction and only succeeding a little bit. The air was filled with the wet sound of flesh on flesh.**

**He wanted to draw it out, make this memorable. After all, it was their first time being really intimate… he couldn't explain how desperate he was to have Merlin enjoy his. If he didn't, Arthur would feel about as disgusting as the man who had raped him. Heart pounding, he lifted his head, just enough to see.**

**Merlin's hand was pumping quickly up and down on Arthur's cock, but his dark eyes were on Arthur. He watched the expressions on Arthur's face, the hoarse gasps leaving his lips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest with such unbidden pleasure on his face it was enough for Arthur, as close to the edge as he was, to lose it. One twist of Merlin's wrist and he was undone, spilling himself onto his stomach and into the sheets.**

" **Shit," he gasped, thrusting his hips upward, as Merlin's hand disappeared into his own trousers, "Merlin, Merlin, I love you."**

**His head fell back, his cheeks burning, blood pounding.**

**Fuck. He'd done it now. Stupid,** _**stupid.** _ **He'd ruined. How could he blurt out something so intimate, so beautiful, at a moment like** _**this.** _ **He whispered a curse. That would certainly be enough to scare Merlin, if nothing else. After what he'd escaped from the last thing he needed was a needy blonde man following him around like a lost puppy. He waited- for what he knew not. Desperate footsteps, perhaps.**

**Silence.**

**He lifted his head to check, but Merlin, having wiped his hand on the sheets, was settling himself down next to Arthur, his head nuzzling into the crook of Arthur's shoulders. Maybe Merlin hadn't heard? Hope glimmered in the distance like stars. But he looked into Merlin's face, gazing back up at his and he** _**knew** _ **Merlin had heard.**

**He looked away, clearing his throat. "Ah, Merlin- I- um, I'm sorry I…" he didn't even know what to say. I'm sorry I took what would have otherwise been a beautiful moment and squandered it in a moment of passion? I'm sorry I'm so in love with you that I'd be lost without you? I'm sorry that on my best day, I still wouldn't deserve you?**

**Merlin snorted, stretching up to bring Arthur's face to his and kiss his lips heatedly.**

" _ **Don't be sorry, you numbskull."**_ **Arthur could hear the smile in his voice,** _ **"I love you, too."**_

88

Merlin's hands smoothed over the tender flesh of his backside, inspecting what his eyes could not. Though his movements spoke of all caution, it was impossible to avoid every bump, every snag scattered across the fabric of his skin like mosquito bites. Each time his cool fingers brushed against a fresh welt it sent a stinging pain through him, like that of an angry bee.

He'd mastered the art of concealing pain, hiding winces. He ground his teeth together instead, bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. He'd gotten so good he almost believed himself.

Lacing up his trousers he barely grimaced, and walking proved to be easier than he had dared to hope; he hardly limped… well, hardly more than usual.

He needed to be alone for a moment. He kept his head bowed as he moved through the campsite, unwilling to see the faces of those who had witnessed his humiliation as he passed.

Reaching the forest's edge he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Here, at least, he could breathe. Here, away from choking stares, away from Merrick, he felt like things were okay - at least for the moment.

Collecting firewood was one of his favorite chores. He could drag it out, recruit only the best logs, collect and collect until his arms were so full he could barely carry them all. Best of all, he didn't have to think. He could let his body drive itself for some time, check out of reality. And every minute he could escape from his hellish existence was a good minute, in his book.

He wandered among the trees, touching their trunks, admiring how sturdy they were, how strong. He wouldn't mind being a tree… nothing would ever hurt him then. He'd always liked nature, and it was peaceful here, just him and the forest. But it wouldn't last long enough. It never did. Merrick liked having him close too much, liked keeping him on a short lead. No matter how long he took, when he returned, Merrick was waiting; always waiting, like a snake in the underbrush.

" _Here's_ my naughty boy," Merrick laughed smoothly, snagging Merlin around the waist as he was depositing his firewood, and giving him the most unpleasant one armed hug he had ever received, "Come on then, love, give your master a kiss."

With all the enthusiasm of a dead man, Merlin did, pressing cold lips limply onto Merrick's cheek. Merrick seemed to enjoy it anyway.

"There's a good lad," He sighed with an air of a preening peacock. Merlin made to leave his side, having delivered the forced and twisted token of his affection, but was snatched back, by a strong arm. Head bowed, lips pursed anxiously, he waited.

"Why do you always want to leave me, hmm?" His voice, a second ago playful, playful for Merrick anyway, had a sudden bite of poison in it. It was one of the few times when Merlin was glad he could not respond. He let his eyes drop, but Merrick had none of it. He squeezed his cheeks tightly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his face up in his painful grip. Merrick's eyes burned, uncontainable, uncontrollable, and willed with inconsolable anger.

" _Are you hungry_?" He spat. It seemed a question out of nowhere, and Merlin, though starving, was at a loss as to whether he was supposed to agree or not. Luckily it didn't matter much, as he was unable to do either, his face caught as it was.

Merrick pushed him away as violently as he grabbed him, and Merlin stumbled, his heart racing. Merrick advanced, muttering obscenities under his breath. Merlin, blood rushing in his ears, tried to decide if he was about to be beaten or raped. Other soldiers milled about not fifty yards from them and it was only a matter of seconds before he became another spectacle, and Merlin couldn't take it, he just couldn't.

Then, out of nowhere, out of absolutely nowhere, the tug of small hands on his tunic. Though he knew how dangerous it was to take his eyes off Merrick, he was too surprised to stop himself.

A child's head floated by his hip, her hair parted into messy braids. Green eyes fixed up at him, grinning, and, in her hand, an offering of stale bread.

He moved without pausing, or thinking. He just had to have it. Like pulling a friend back from the line of danger, it was automatic. He snatched the bread from her so fast it might have burned her hand, clutching it tight until-

"What is this?" Merrick roared.

Fear pierced Merlin like a lance, and he dropped the bread as quickly as he had taken it.

"Has she been  _feeding_ you?" He shouted as he came forward, outraged, pointing at the little girl who looked only disappointed that her gift had been cast aside.

Merlin immediately stepped between his master and the little friend he hadn't asked for, shaking his head violently, waving his hands frantically.

"No, no, no, no…" he tried to convey, "This silly girl? I've never seen her before in my life. She's crazy. She's no one."

He attached himself to Merrick's side, smoothing the hackles of his shoulders with his hands, kissing his cheek tenderly, touching his face, his hair.

"Let's go," he pleaded silently, taking Merrick's hand in his, "Let's go to our tent. Let's go make love in our tent. I'll be so good if you just leave her be! I'll even enjoy it. "

With a grunt, Merrick tore his arm free, and one rough shove left Merlin sprawled mud-spattered on the ground.

Merrick had the girl's small arm encased inside his iron grasp, marching her away through the mud, away to where Merlin could not follow or help her.

Her small legs worked furiously to keep up with Merrick's brusque strides, nearly being dragged by her arm. Even so, she managed a curious glance back at Merlin as if asking for an explanation, and when none came, she delivered one last gift: a cross-eyed, tongue out, nose wrinkled face.

Merlin meant to respond, to give one back, but he'd forgotten how to breathe properly. Jagged gasps cut their path down his throat like broken glass, and he clutched at his chest. He could only stare on in disbelieving horror. Then the little girl's head was turned away, as she jogged to keep up.

Merlin never saw her again.

He kept still for a few moments, breathing slowly, lamenting, angry at Merrick, angry at himself, angry at that  _stupid_  girl, what had she been thinking, giving bread to him like that right in front of Merrick?

His fist pounded at the ground in fury, but far from satisfying, he only managed to splash himself with mud, making him about as dirty on the outside as he felt within.

A few inches from him, the bread still lay on the ground, now half- spattered in grime. Merlin gave it only a cursory brush before stuffing it down his throat.

Sometimes, in moments like this, he remembered Freya, and thought about all things she might have gone through had she lived, and he decided that she was probably better off sleeping peacefully under the earth.

And maybe so was he.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who followed me, subscribed to me, commented, betad, encouraged, and constantly checked for updates: Thank you. Without you, I assure you, this would not have been finished. From the bottom of my heart. I have the greatest appreciation and gratitude toward you. You are far more patient than I, and I can think of no one better with which to share this, the culmination of 18 months of work, the longest story I have ever written.
> 
> So far.

The plodding of many tired feet seemed to surround him, invade him, drive him like it was the beating of his own heart, the momentum carrying him forward even though he too exhausted to continue.

Beneath him, his sore feet were cold and wet. Upon his back, the weight of tents, pans, blankets and all the days he'd lived with a collar on his neck were stuffed into his pack. They'd been walking at least eight hours, as near as Merlin could tell. The sun, which had begun to watch them when it was new and fresh from sleep, still stared unblinking at them, now more than halfway done its journey through the sky.

It wasn't the first time they'd walked like this: packed up camp and just  _left_. Merlin knew only that they were headed west, and since he had no idea where they were, nevermind where Camelot was, this wasn't very useful.

Fortunately for Merlin, he had an informant who was never wrong in telling him what direction they were headed in: Merrick. Or rather, his temper, once he stepped off the battlefield.

Today Merlin's back and the tops of his thighs protested sorely with each step. His lip was swollen, his left eye puffy and black, and the skin on his forearm had been broken through where he himself bit down on it to keep from screaming.

Today, they retreated.

With all the strife moving caused, at least it kept him away from Merrick. Overseeing the carts and men and horses, he was far too busy to bother with any sort of interaction with Merlin.

...Thank goodness.

So even though each breath cause his ribs to ache, Merlin was determined to enjoy it. It was going to be a good day.

There were shouts from the front, and everyone game to a gradual stop, rolling their eyes to each other.

Another hold up.

Unlike the others, Merlin didn't mind these stops. He was in no hurry to get where they were going. He let his pack drop to the ground and stretched out his arms. This could be a while. He took in a deep breath and was pleasantly surprised to smell salt. Now that his eyes were opened, he could feel the briney moisture in the air.

The source was to his right, a sharp end to the earth, a one way journey to the last bath you'd ever take.

It'd been so long since Merlin had a bath.

He inched closer to the edge, peering into the dark waters below. They swirled bitterly, beating against the rocks again and again and again, until Merlin found himself quite sympathetic to their plight. White foam splashed up from the impact like angry, shaking fists, like tangible pieces of determination ever so slowly chipping away before fading into the great emptiness of the sea.

Infinitely, this timeless dance would go on… long after everything Merlin knew was dead and gone. It would go on forever, and all that choose to be a part of it would as well.

This was how, Merlin recalled, Merrick's last slave had died. Yes, hadn't it been one of the very first things Merrick had said to him? ' _I've been ever so lonely since my last one jumped off the cliff._ ' Well, Merlin couldn't hardly blame him.

It didn't seem a half bad way to go, considering. Quick, painless… if a little cold, but then you could just float forever, apart of something much bigger than man could ever hope to be.

How many times had he thought himself better off dead? How many times had he wished it? Here was his chance, and he was balking. The wind ruffled his hair as if to comfort him, and Merlin pulled his arms closer around himself.

His feet tingled, the muscles in his calves tensing, knowing they might be called upon at any moment to spring. He was so close to the edge, his toes wiggling freely in thin shoes over the space between him and oblivion.

It would be cold. A rush of air… and then.. what? Would he feel the impact? Blinding pain? Or would it be fast like he was falling asleep? Would he be able to count the seconds as he fell, whisper his goodbyes? Or would it be more like missing a step going down the stairs, your hearts in your throat and then its over.

And what was over, anyway?

Merlin wasn't sure what he believed would happen to him once he died, and there were many people he'd regret never getting to say goodbye to. But even if he chose to live he'd never see them anyway. Besides, what he was doing could hardly be classified as  _living_. He'd rather do it by his own hand, go willingly, then be dragged kicking and screaming. He had to let them go. They'd want this for him, they'd

want him to sleep in peace than live in agony that much he was sure of.

 _It's alright, Merlin,_  he could hear Gaius now.

 _You've fought very bravely._  added Arthur.

 _It's time to rest._  Gwen's voice was sweet, gentle.

 _I love you_. He wanted to hear his mother's voice so badly, he felt if he just concentrated hard enough, he could will it into existence. The memory of her brought hot tears to his eyes. He missed her so much. If he could just talk to her one last time...

But she would want this for him, he reminded himself, she would understand.

He'd be able to see Freya again. This, too, he felt sure of. Where she had gone, he would follow.

 _Come home, Merlin_. She was waiting for him.

Slowly, he unfurled his arms from around his body, holding them out by his sides like wings. He felt the cool fingers of the wind tickle his sides, giving him a friendly push.

In this position, he almost felt like he could soar, fly right off the edge and away... Away from this imitation of life, this puppet he'd become, this used and tired version of himself that he so hated.

He closed his eyes, and slowly let gravity take over this body.

Everything seemed so precious now: the fresh air, the hot sun on his face, the miracle of his life, as short and painful as his had been.

Had things been different... There was no use for that line of thought.

Hell, he would even bet the view was beautiful, had he been brave enough to open his eyes. But as much as he was going to enjoy these last few seconds, he was okay with them ending. Like a beautiful piece of music, it is the silence after that makes it so enjoyable.

He was tilting now, and soon he'd be unbalanced, unable to stop it even if he wanted. His heart thundered rapidly.

He was afraid.

 _Goodbye,_  he thought, his loved ones sharply focused in his minds eye, because he didn't want to leave this world alone.  _Goodbye, I love you, please... Remember me._

There was a jolt as his feet slipped, and he lurched, but in quite the wrong direction.

Backwards he fell, and was dragged still over several yards, dirt and stones cutting into his back.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream until his throat bled and body gave out. He wanted to rip out his hair, claw his skin to shreds, gouge out his eyes and throw himself upon the ground... But he had not the energy.

Tears salty as the sea he'd been about to throw himself in streamed from him, from the empty shell of his body. This was the second time, the second time they'd saved him- no. This was the second time they'd killed him.

Ryker, the foul man who'd brought him here, looked down at him, his head framed by the darkening clouds.

"Almost too late.." His voice was annoyed, "Merrick would have been be so very disappointed… Another slave off the cliff."

Merlin could not bare it.

Ryker continued on. "Frankly, I don't give a shit if he cuts off your arm and fucks you with it in front of everyone, you're staying until he's done with you. Then you can jump off all the cliffs you want. Shit I'll even give you a push. But until then... You keep him happy. And that keeps everyone happy, understand?" the last world was a curling growl.

Merlin wasn't convinced he hadn't already jumped, died, and gone straight to eternal torment.

"Here's your pack," it was pressed roughly to his chest, just as people began to move forward once more, "You walk next to me now."

88

**Merlin only felt a little bad about sneaking off in the middle of the night. He knew Arthur would probably panic once he woke up and discovered Merlin gone, but he couldn't help himself. Everything was so much more accessible with magic. It was as if he had done everything up to this point one handed with bags of sand strapped to his ankles and was just now released from his burdens.**

**With a wave of his hand, the guard outside their door suddenly remembered an urgent business that needed attending to on the other side of the castle, and Merlin was free to slip away unnoticed. All he had to do was make sure the door didn't slam behind him. Arthur was, as it turned out, a very light sleeper. Merlin found this rather odd as before he left he remembered finding Arthur very hard to rouse in the morning.**

**He hadn't been able to sleep, and not only because of the blonde mop of air sleeping peacefully on the pillow next to him (because Merlin had taken the liberty of turning his hair brown sometime around midnight). Something else was bothering him, something that had been nagging him ever since he'd arrived in Camelot. Now that he had his magic returned to him it was a good a time as any to find his answers. He'd be back before anyone missed him.**

**Even with Arthur's cloak pulled around his shoulders the air was chilly for the warm breath of dawn had not even begun to color the sky. Despite his four year absence, he had no trouble finding their old meeting place, though it was a much further walk than he had remembered. He wasn't sure if it was going to work, without his voice. He was pleased to find that he could do all his spells mentally if he concentrated hard enough (being the most powerful wizard in existence had to have its perks after all) but this was different. However, he had to try, and experimenting with magic was anything but a chore.**

**So in his mind he let the enchantment roar, until it echoed through his body until it seemed the very air around him hummed it… or was it just his imagination? It was very early, after all.**

**But if Kilgarrah hadn't heard that, then there was simply nothing he could do about it. He settled himself in to do perhaps one of life's hardest tasks: wait.**

**The sky was beginning to lighten, and he would soon be missed. He'd almost given up when it happened: a dark shape growing impossibly bigger on the horizon, and the beating of great wings.**

**He closed his eyes as Kilgarrah came near, letting the wind ruffle the locks of his hair and swirl the magic in his chest. He landed with a softer thud than should be possible for a creature his size and Merlin felt a hot breeze run through him. His brilliant golden face loomed close to Merlin's own when Kilgarrah opened his eyes, inspecting him with a gentle scrutiny that he was unused to from the dragon.**

" **Much has changed since our last meeting." It was like hearing the voice of an old friend, and Merlin's heart buzzed. How many nights had he dreamed of escape on Kilgarrah's mighty back?**

_**Much** _ **. He agreed.**

" **I expected to hear your call many times before: when Camelot declared war, when its first defences fell, and again when it seemed all was lost and yet you remained silent. I thought perhaps you had no more need of me."**

_**I doubt that will ever be true, Kilgarrah, you've forgotten more than I'll ever know.** _

" **And yet, even dragons make mistakes. Perhaps I was not as in touch with events in Camelot as I thought I was."**

_**What makes you say that?** _

**He wasn't wrong, though. Maybe if Kilgarrah had paid more attention, he would have noticed Merlin was missing from Camelot. Maybe he would have tried to find him, and maybe…**

**But it wasn't the task of dragons to manage the human world any more than it had been the task of Uther to exterminate dragons.**

" **I see there has been a great change in you since we last spoke, Warlock. You have seen much pain and suffering."**

_**We all have,** _ **Merlin pointed out,** _**The land's just been at war.** _

" **Yes," he conceded, "But not as you have. You speak differently now."**

**Merlin squirmed slightly. It was this part he really couldn't stand: the explaining. This constant reopening of wounds, this rousing of graves. It shone blinding light into every better forgotten corner of his mind.**

_**It is the only way I can speak now.** _ **If he could have spoken the words, it would have been through gritted teeth.**

**The dragon blinked his calm, orb-like eyes. "You were captured by Morgana."**

**It was not a question, so Merlin felt no need to explain that while he'd ended up slave to Morgana's army, he'd not started there.**

" **I know you are are pure of heart, Warlock, but surely even you would not hesitate to use magic to escape… or at least to call to me. Despite our disagreements do not doubt I would have gladly come to your aid."**

**Merlin let out a shaky breath.** _**I could not: they took my magic.** _

**At these words, Kilgarrah flung his head back and sent a jet of fire into the air that was all at once magnificent and terrifying.**

" **Despicable humans!" He roared.**

_**Shh… someone will hear you!** _ **Merlin hissed, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected guards to be running toward them. The ban on magic had been repealed, but the idea of someone stumbling upon him as he chatted amiably with a dragon was not ideal.**

" **Wretches!" He stamped his mighty foot on the ground and the trees nearby shivered, sending birds flying and shrieking.**

" **A fate most foul! Akin to taking flight from a bird, or fins from a fish!" He huffed out a puff of black smoke and it curled angrily around his snout. "They fiddle with that which they do not understand. It is a sin against your nature. I am most sorry."**

_**As am I,** _ **Merlin hastened to add, eager to get the dragon to calm down, and move on to what he** _**really** _ **wanted to know.** _**But there's nothing to be done about it now. I've a question for you.** _

" **I did not doubt that you did."**

_**The prophecy!** _ **Merlin could not help the anger that edged deeper into his voice the longer he talked.** _**The one you spoke of! You said- you said Arthur was the one true King to unite the land of Albion. You said that I would be at his side! Helping! Protecting!** _ **He felt a lump forming in his throat, and thought for a moment that, had he been able to speak, his voice would be shaking.**

" **What is your question, Warlock?"**

_**Well why wasn't I? I might as well not have come to Camelot at all for all the good I did! I wasn't needed was I? Arthur did it all on his own. And… and if that's true… everything I went through… it means it was all for nothing.** _

" **Alas, small one, there are some things even I do not know. But do not question your importance. These things are rarely wrong, and never straightforward. Arthur is indeed creating lasting peace by uniting Albion, but I do not doubt that without you it would not be possible." He flapped his great wings and Merlin had to clutch Arthur's clock around him so that it would not be torn from his shoulders.**

" **If you were not there in person, perhaps you were there in spirit, or in the minds of those who loved you. Take heart, warlock, you did not suffer in vain. You are where you should be. You are home."**

**Merlin sniffled with these new words, and wiped a tear impatiently from his cool cheek. "It's getting light. I should go." Indeed, the sky was dangerously bright, the sun beginning to rise into the sky, the birth of a new day. People would soon be looking for him if they weren't already.**

" **Then I bid you farewell, warlock. Our paths will cross again."**

" **One more thing," he said with a clearing of his throat, for even though he could not use it, it still felt as if there was something stuck there. "You used to call me young warlock."**

**The great dragon unfurled his wings to their tremendous length and raised his head into the sky, preparing for flight. "You used to be young."**

**And with a wind so powerful that Merlin had to shield his eyes against it, Kilgarrah was gone.**

**Once he found the love of his life, he was going to kill him, Arthur decided as he sped down what was yet another Merlin-less corridor. George was annoyingly determined to keep pace with him, brandishing a tunic between panting breaths, ("Please Sire... it'll only... take a moment! It's undignified!") for Arthur had not bothered to get properly dressed that morning once he found Merlin was missing. But he paid George no mind.**

**How could Merlin do this to him? He had to know what his absence would do to him. He knew Merlin was probably fine somewhere in the back of his head, but it didn't help. Wild scenarios kept tormenting his mind: Merlin, kidnapped again by the remaining supporters of Morgana's army, Merlin, dead in a ditch, eyes empty and cold, Merlin, run away as far as he could because he just couldn't stand looking at Arthurs face for one more minute…**

**Well this wasn't going to be like last time, Arthur thought viciously as servants hastened to scramble out of his war path. He wasn't going to sit around and wait for twenty-four hours, convinced Merlin had just wandered off somewhere. He wasn't going to just let others convince him Merlin was perfectly fine, and then later, perfectly dead.**

**He was on his way to alert the Knights now. He'd have the whole kingdom searching all day if that's what it took. If Merlin was in trouble, so help him, they would find him. And if he had really run away… then he at the very least owed Arthur an explanation.**

**He was so set on his goal that he didn't see Gwen rounding the corner until it was too late. They collided, Arthur grabbed at the wall to stay upright but it was no use, and they were soon on the floor, Arthur nursing a tender spot on his head.**

" **Arthur!" Gwen squawked, "Your hair!"**

" **What about it!" Arthur snapped venomously.**

**By the look on her face and the widening of her eyes it was obvious she was taken aback by his stinging response, but Arthur could not summon any sympathy for her.**

" **What is it? What's wrong?" Far too smart to be left wondering, Gwen scrambled to her feet, concern gleaming in her eyes.**

" **Merlin's missing," he bit at her, anger lacing his voice like poison.**

" **Missing?" She was as appalled as he, yet Arthur's anger was not abated. If anything, it grew.**

" **Yes, missing! And it's your fault!"**

**It wasn't, and Arthur knew it. He also knew he was much too old to be blaming others for his problems. Had Merlin been around, no doubt he would call Arthur some silly yet somehow insulting name. But Merlin wasn't here, and Arthur felt no more capable of reining in his anger than he did sprouting wings and taking flight. Fire ran through his veins.**

" **What?" Gwen was clearly shocked, and rightfully so.**

" **Yes!" Arthur accused wildly, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth,"Yes! If you weren't leaving he'd still be here! You're practically abandoning him! He can't take it! That's why he left!"**

**Her eyes filled with tears, and Arthur instantly regretted his harsh words. "Gwenevere, I-"**

" **Sire!" It was George again, red in the face with his hands on his knees, tunic clamped limply in one hand. "If you'll...just allow… me to…"**

**Gwen cut him off. "Arthur, that's- thats a horrible thing to say! I thought Merlin was dead- we all did! I- I have to go back my- my whole life's there! My work, my husband- I want to move back now that Merlin's here, of course I do, but I can't just go around giving out false hope that I'm returning without so much as talking to my husband first. Merlin- Merlin knows how much I care about him, he knows I'm not abandoning him…"**

**She lowered her head, better to hide her face as she surreptitiously wiped at damp cheeks. Arthur was coated in guilt.**

" **I- you're right, of course you are, I- I'm sorry, Gwenevere, I'm just… worried." He wasn't very good at apologizing, but he thought Gwen understood. After all, she had to be just as panicked as he was. "It would be… amazing if you could come to Camelot permanently," he continued "I know that Merlin would be ecstatic; he's lost so much. But no one expects that of you. You've done wonders just visiting. I don't think he'd be able to make so much progress without you, Gwen. You two have a special connection and- and truth be told I'm quite jealous."**

**Gwen chuckled softly. "Arthur, you two could talk with your minds long before you couldn't with your tongues."**

**Arthurs stomach churned inside his body. Every second they wasted here in this corridor was another that Merlin could be getting farther and farther away from him. He could practically** _**feel** _ **the distance between them growing like a sixth sense, and he hated it.**

" **This isn't going to be like before," he said in a reserved voice as he wiped sweaty palms on his trousers, "I'm going to get my horse ready. Go and alert the rest of the Knights, have them join me outside the castle walls, alright? Let the servants know, too. Maybe someone in the castle has seen him… we'll have the whole Kingdom out searching for him if that's what it takes."  
**

**She nodded. "I'm sure he's alright, Arthur. Try not to worry. We'll find him." Arthur nodded too, but his stomach felt like rock in his torso, and he had trouble swallowing, even as she rounded the corner.**

" **Sire…" George sounded uncertain, and Arthur waved him off impatiently. "Sire, please…"**

"

_**What,** _ **George?" Arthur asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.**

_**Arthur…?** _

_**Thank you.** _ **Was Arthur's only thought before he turned. Merlin stood there rather sheepishly, as if he knew all the trouble he'd caused, taking up more room in the corridor than seemed possible with his small frame. He had at least had the decency to take Arthur's traveling cloak to fend against the chilly morning air.**

" **Merlin!" Arthur strode to embrace him, "You complete oaf! I was worried sick you know!" His voice took a heavier tone and his next words were muttered directly into Merlin's ear, "Not so much as a note… I could hardly breathe from fear…"**

_**I'm sorry, Arthur. I was just visiting an old friend. I thought I'd be back before anyone would notice…** _

" **You should have** _ **told**_ **me Merlin!"**

_**You'd have wanted to come.** _ **He kissed Arthur cheek gently,** _**I just wanted to be alone for a bit. I'm sorry.** _

" **It doesn't matter now. I'm just glad you're here."**

_**Arthur…** _ **Merlin started, stepping out of Arthurs embrace to see his face,** _**while I was missing, did you… think about me much?** _

**Arthur was surprised, not only by the question, but by the timing of it. Honestly, he wasn't sure it was the best time to be having such a conversation- after all, they were in the middle of the hallway, but (besides George) they were alone, and Arthur could see how the importance of the question rang in Merlin's eyes. So, quickly, he tried to put together an appropriate response.**

" **I- um, at first, to be honest Merlin, at first… I tried not to. It- it hurt too much, knowing that you were gone. I avoided the parts of the castle that reminded me of you, and I avoided… well, everything actually. But those memories- I realized they were the only thing of you that I had left. And then I began thinking of you quite often. Everyday, really."**

**He looked off, as if remembering those darker and lonelier days. His next words came with a light chuckle and pink cheeks. "Its stupid, really, looking back, but every time I had to make a decision I'd hear your voice in my head, and I'd think, 'what would Merlin say to this?' and every time I did something wrong I knew you'd be so disappointed and… it made me feel shame. You always knew what to say. It's as if you have wisdom beyond your years that I'll- I'll never understand it. There are times that I suspect I'd not be half so great a King if not for your influence. But, I think I missed you most when my father passed. You seemed to be the only one who could understand how I felt. I guess I was just as in love with you then as I am now… I was just too stupid to realize."**

**He touched Merlin's cheek lightly, who gazed back at him unsteadily.** _**Arthur, I've - I love you. I have. Almost since our first meeting…** _ **Merlin hand rose to catch Arthur's.**

" **I know," Arthur said cooly, leaning in to claim his lips.**

" **Merlin!"**

**Arthur cursed silently before turning. Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and two other Knights were skidding to a halt before them, all in various stages of readiness: Leon had on full armour, Percy was still fumbling with his mail, and Gwaine only had his sword.**

" **We just ran into Gwen," Leon said, looking back and forth between Merlin and Arthur, "She said… Merlin was missing."**

" **Ah. Yes." Arthur cleared his throat. "...He has since been found."**

**Gwaine had a hand over his chest, "You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack, Arthur! I thought he'd been kidnapped!"**

**Leon glanced behind him, "I'd best go tell everyone not to get dressed."**

" **Don't bother. We can have an impromptu training session."**

" **Arthur!" Elyan exclaimed.**

" **The new recruits could use an extra training session." Arthur said, annoyed that his orders were being protested.**

" **No, your hair!"**

Arthur immediately rose his hand to inspect it, suddenly self-conscious. "What? What's wrong with it?" he asked as Merlin grew pink.

" **It's...brown!"**

**Arthur, too, blushed at these words. "Yes. Of course. Easily Explainable, Elyan. It's simply… If you just… Ah. Yes. Merlin, a quick work, please? I'll meet everyone on the field in ten minutes." He glanced sideways at Merlin. "Actually, make that twenty. Carry on then."**

88

One day, Merlin was charged with the task of cleaning Merrick's armour, and looking after his sword. It was a chore that never failed to stir up old emotions and memories, no matter how hard he tried to repress them. But it was at least a job he knew how to do well. He could shut his brain off, let his arms work, and try not to think of A… anything.

One day, Merlin was sharpening Merrick's sword, hardly blinking as sparks from the whetstone flew past his eyes. He'd be here forever. He'd be here forever. He'd be here forever, until he died. Or until someone else did.

One day, a most un-Merlin-like thought slipped into Merlin's head and he found it to be unshakable. Where it came from, he knew not. Desperation? Rebellion? A sense of danger and adventure he'd shared long ago with very different blonde man, or a black corner of his heart filled with bitter darkness and frost? He supposed it hardly mattered. He couldn't tell the difference between all the different bits of himself anymore.

One day, Merrick's sword was most incorrectly sharpened. It's edge had been roughly dragged over the stone till it was dull and useless; until it could scarcely cut through cheese, nevermind armour.

One day, Merrick came into his tent where Merlin was. He was a rage of wind and power and anger, with murder in his eyes. His side and shoulder were heavily bandaged, his face badly cut and trickling blood. He'd never looked more injured, or more threatening.

One day, the entire camp heard Merrick screaming. " _How dare you tamper with my sword! After everything I've done for you! I Ought to kill you now! I ought to have you executed! Ungrateful filth! Fucking slave! If I die, you're going to die with me! I own you! You are_ mine!  _You want to leave? You want to die?! I'll help you along!"_

One day, Merlin was beaten within an inch of his life, beaten until it hurt to breath, until it hurt to think, until it hurt to exist. Dried blood from his scalp matted into his now long hair, caking it crusty brown. It trailed down to two black eyes, which might have hindered his sight were his eyes not already swollen shut.

One day, Merlin's forearms and wrists told pitiful tales of when he had tried fruitlessly to protect himself, to soften the relentless blows. His ribs felt broken; he couldn't move without gasping at the sharp pain, like his bones had been replaced with barbed wire that snagged at his skin and made his insides bleed.

One day, Merlin's chest was filled with bruises. His body was a testament to the pain he'd endured, a shattered image of a man dragged into hell. Merlin was bedridden for three days, and when he was inevitable yanked to his feet with half-healed injuries, a few hours of work left him drenched in sweat and wheezing for air. These were the type of injuries that stayed with you for years. These were the type of injuries that never quite healed. These injuries were always to be a reminder, and Merlin, so close to giving in, had no way of knowing that his time was almost up.

88

**The day that Gwen left was a sad day for everyone. Elyan was obviously unenthusiastic to see the back of her, spending the last few days trying to squeeze out every second of her time he possibly could. Gwaine made her promise to write more often; Percy said he would miss her "calming presence." Even Arthur hated to see her go, their newly repaired friendship seemed just now to be reemerging from the ashes of their past.**

**But Merlin was the worst. Having lost nearly everyone, Arthur understood his reluctance to let Gwen go, but it was simply** _**painful** _ **to watch them together in the days leading up to her departure.**

**One moment everything would be great: Merlin and Gwen sniggering into their potatoes with a childish abandon that shot a spike of jealousy through Arthur. He knew he was being petty- he should be glad at Merlin and Gwen's solid friendship, and things between himself and Merlin were wonderful- but he couldn't suppress the feeling. Communicating magically, as much as Arthur loved and appreciated it, kept him from hearing their conversation. They could have enlightened him, of course, but Arthur feared they wouldn't want to. He had the distinct feeling that this particular joke was about him and his talents in the bedroom, judging by the way the pair of them were blushing and sneaking glances at him.**

**But Merlin's mood could change between forkfuls. The next moment, Merlin would have Gwen's hand in a vice grip, his face pinched in grief. He had no need to hear their conversation now, for Gwen spoke enough for both of them, her voice thick and eyes brimming.**

" **I can't Merlin, you know I can't, please stop asking…" It never turned out well.**

**The morning of her departure found Arthur awake, alone, and staring at his ceiling. He was wondering exactly how they were going to make it through this day, when a small thought occurred to him.**

" **Good-bye!" Gwen was wiggling her fingers from atop her feisty mare as beside her the guard that Arthur insisted be sent with her mounted up.**

**Her eyes met his, and they shared a secret look as her horse anxiously pawed at the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust. By spoken arrangement, they had decided not to tell Merlin about her possible relocation back to Camelot, as nothing was certain. Both had agreed that the one thing Merlin had yet to afford was dashed hopes.**

**But it turned out that they hardly needed to be so subtle about it, as Merlin had not even shown up to see Gwen off. He hadn't even spoken to Arthur when he'd knocked on his door, but** _**had** _ **thrown some sort of object at the door… a shoe, Arthur guessed, by the sound of it. He supposed he'd deserved it, considering all the things he'd thrown at Merlin over the years, but it didn't put him in any better of a mood.**

**His attempts at reason and comfort were responded only with quiet sobs. Arthur's heart broke for Merlin, broke and bleed and smarted. However, when Merlin continued to ignore Arthur and his calm appeals to logic, there was nothing for him to do but go and say his own goodbyes to Gwen.**

**She was hurt, Arthur could tell, to look among her well-wishers and not seen his friendly grin, but in typical, wonderful, beautiful, generous, Gwen fashion, she did not feel angry or slighted, but understood and forgave. After everything Merlin had been through, it's not surprising that he had issues with saying good-bye.**

" **I'll send word," Gwen called from her mount, "Once I get settled. And letters to Merlin, of course."**

" **I'm sure he'll be thrilled."**

" **You will tell him goodbye for me, won't you?"**

**She had already asked this three times, but Arthur was steadfast in his patience. He'd imagine being an equal wreck, leaving Merlin. "Of course."**

**She nodded, though didn't look at ease. "Alright, okay. Good- oh!" Gwen nearly leapt from her horse, and Arthur released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. His body relaxed, his muscles eased. He knew before he turned around. Merlin had shown up to say farewell after all.**

_**He needed this** _ **Arthur thought. He couldn't let another person leave his life not on his own terms.**

**Gwen was squeezing a red and wet-faced Merlin, having what appeared to be a one-sided conversation, though Arthur knew better.**

" **Oh, Merlin, I'm so glad you came!... Of course not, Merlin, I understand, it's alright!... I'm going to miss you too, I can hardly bear it… of course he does… And I, you, Merlin…"**

**They seemed to embrace forever, until Arthur was sure that they were unable to part, that the heartstrings of one flowed directly into the other. In any case, it was long enough for her escort to sigh and fidget restlessly, eager to get on the road.**

**It seemed eerily final when the two separated, and Arthur had to remind himself that this was not so. Yet there definitely seemed to be piece of Merlin that rode away with Gwen, a vital part of him, a part that left a aching hole his chest.**

**He was left waving dejectedly until Gwen was out of sight. Everyone had long since trooped back inside the castle while fresh tears were still falling down pink cheeks, Merlins soft whimpers enough to melt the coldest man's heart.**

**Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder, after Gwen's horse was not even a speck on the horizon. "I want to show you something." He said gently. Merlin gave a soft sniffle and a nod before Arthur took his hand and led him away.**

**Deep into the woods they strolled, fingers interlocked, their pace meandering. There were things to do and people to see and orders to give, but all that melted away with Merlin by his side. If Arthur had learned anything through this ordeal, it was his priorities. And Merlin simply came first.**

**They walked until Merlins curiosity began to outweigh his grief, until the salty tears dried from his face, leaving him with pink and puffy-eyed. Arthur had led Merlin to a completely ordinary part of the forest. It unmemorable, no streams or particularly tall oaks. In fact, it was a wonder Arthur could find it, considering there were no rock faces or boulders or anything to distinguish it from the surrounding trees... except of course the grave marker.**

**Arthur blushed as Merlin bent to inspect it. The rock was no larger than the average book, and lent against the trunk of a tree. Upon its dappled gray surface was a crude and off center 'M.'**

" **Took me days to do that," Arthur admitted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Originally it was going to say 'Merlin,' but ah, I ran out of room… and it was quite a bit of work, that."**

**Merlin ran his hand over it, his face revealing nothing.** _**This is my grave.** _ **It was not a question.**

" **Yes. Well, sort-of. There's not body in it, obviously."**

_**So what did you bury?** _

" **Some clothes, a handkerchief, some flowers… just a couple of things that reminded me of you…"**

**Merlin looked at him, his face unreadable, and Arthur began to think that perhaps showing Merlin his own grave had been a bad idea, after all.**

" **Look," he said quickly, "I'm sorry if this is weird for you. When I stopped looking for you, I couldn't just let you go. I had to put you to rest. I had to know that you were at peace. I mean, now I know you weren't, but I wanted you to be. Not dead, of course, but at peace. I came down here, carved that rock, buried some things, said some words- no really, you would have been touched, Merlin- and I made a little home for you." He licked his lips, watching Merlin's face carefully before he continued.**

" **As selfish as it sounds, Merlin, it put me at ease thinking that you were okay, lying quietly in Camelot. I liked being able to make my sorrow tangible, somewhere I could visit, something I could see. Putting you here meant that your ghost no longer followed me everywhere I went. It was the only way I was able to move on, to be the ruler my people deserved. Of course by doing this, I also let you down, as a friend, and a King, and that is something I doubt I shall ever forgive myself for, however necessary it might have been."**

**He cleared his throat roughly. They had already discussed that issue. "Now, I do apologize for its location. I know it's not a… remarkable part of the forest, but the thing was, you always found such incredible beauty in the simplest of things. I thought it appropriate. And you did enjoy nature so. Anyway, I'm not completely sure why I've shown you this, I supposed you just deserved to see."**

**Merlin stood and brushed his hands on his pants, taking a step back to admire it.** _**It is a bit weird.** _ **he said softly, arms crossed as if against a chill.** _**Not many men get to see their own grave. But I am glad that you showed me.** _

**For a moment they stood in silence, letting the sun that filtered through the leaves cast golden shapes upon their skin. The wind blew gently, as if to nudge them, making sure they were still awake.**

_**You know, it really is a grave, in some ways. I feel as if there is a part of me buried there. I'm not the same man I was before.** _

" **No. Nor I," Arthur agreed. He nodded, looking down at the rock he'd carved what seemed a lifetime ago. "I don't want your past to haunt you, Merlin. I want you to be able to bury it. The past affects you, and changes you, and molds you… but don't let it consume you."**

**Merlin gave a small smile, his arm sliding around Arthur's waist. He let himself settle into the warm comfort of his body, his free hand cupping around Arthur's cheek so that their eyes met.** _**I think I'll be alright,** _ **he said, his grin growing to overtake his whole face, brightening his eyes and lifting Arthur's spirit.** _**As long as you stick around.** _ **  
**   
**"Oh, well in that case," Arthur was smiling too now, savoring this sweet moment, pulling Merlin into his chest like a child unwilling to share, "You're going to be brilliant."**

**And when their lips pressed softly together, with all the pain and suffering of the past snapping at their feet, it felt as if they could conquer it all.**

88

At first Merlin thought not being able to stand was the best thing that ever happened to him. He was unable to do chores, and meals were brought to him. He was kept indoors, he did not have to suffer the eyes of others. Lastly, and most important, war duties mostly kept Merrick away from him. During the day, at least. It was true that laying on his back and staring off into space could get boring, but he'd take boring over slave labor every day of the week.

Not to mention, lying motionlessly had proved very helpful in the eavesdropping area. Merlin caught glimpses of whispered conversations between discontent foot soldiers as they passed what they assumed to be an empty tent. He heard Merrick and his most trusted men discussing confidential information as they walked back from war meetings. He'd effectively become a fly on the wall of the encampment.

The war, it seemed, was going badly. This much, at least, was obvious. Encampments were falling to their right and left. Morgana was no where to be found. She had given her order and vanished, apparently with a great scheme that was going to bring Camelot to its knees- so long as everyone did their part.

But someone along the line must have screwed up because her directions were proving to be much more difficult than she had promised, and she wasn't exactly around to amend the plan.

They had retreated much more than had been expected. In fact, they hadn't been supposed to retreat at all. And now retreat wasn't even an option. Their backs were to a cliff face. There was no where else to go. They were cornered, and Camelot was expected to close in for the kill.

Now, whatever thoughts Merlin had about his injuries being in his favor died a painful death as soon as he was forced to stand again, three days later.

He had been  _so_ wrong.

Chores took twice as long, as if to make up for the time he'd had off. He had to stop every few minutes, to rest his sore muscles, and wipe a forehead that seemed impossibly coated in sweat. But he was no stranger to hard work.

Merrick also saw him fit for service again. Merlin was prone to being quietly snatched throughout the day, pulled aside where no one could see, so that Merrick could take out his 'frustrations' on him. And it seemed Merrick certainly had a lot of them.

He had been crouched in an empty tent when the end came.

Well, nearly empty. Merrick was there, of course, making savage use of Merlin's mouth in ways that caused drool to spill down his chin. His knees were beginning to smart painfully when the shouts rose from outside, voices growing as if one person had taken up the cry, and the others joined in. The shouting was indistinguishable, but clearly panicked and as sudden as lightning. Hurried footsteps ran in groups past their tent.

Cursing loudly, Merrick stuffed himself back into his pants. Sounds of fighting broke from outside, the vibrating tang of metal on metal filled the air.

The troops were tired, rundown. They'd spend days retreating. Many of them had fallen already. They were cornered. Morale was low. Food was low. They were unprepared. They would not win this fight.

"Fuck!" Merrick yelled, his eyes wild as he wheeled to the tent entrance and wrenched the flap open. "What happened to the goddamn lookouts?!" He reached for his sword, usually strapped round his waist, but his hand groped at air. He'd taken the belt off, better to enjoy himself. It lay at the opposite end of the tent.

Merlin half rose out of his crouch, unsure of what to do. Soldiers always went to the battle, the battle had never before come to them. Would he be expected to fight? To kill for the army that enslaved him? He'd rather die. Maybe he'd get his wish…

"You  _stay_  here!" Merrick growled with a leer as his sword swept gracefully from his scabbard, it's point just brushing the top of the grass, "I'll be coming back for  _you_ , my sweet."

Merlin sat down in on the ground to wait, but he did not have to wait very long. Merrick's silhouette was still visible on the tent wall when he was apprehended by three caped figures. The struggle was quite drawn out, considering the odds. But Merrick did not go quietly. He screamed as if he'd been impaled, writhing like a worm on a spike, making it impossible for his captors to keep their grip on him. A fifth man ran toward them, tackling one of the caped ones from behind, circling his arms around his neck and yanking him to the ground where the struggle continued in a confusing heap of limbs. Merrick's screams were cut off quite as suddenly as they had started.

Then Merlin's darkened tent was filled with blinding light as the three men stormed in, their red capes blazing as if they were on fire.

The shortest of the three advanced, sword drawn, face set.

A part of Merlin thought he shouldn't be afraid. These were his allies, after all. They would save him- he was on Camelot's side. But he was in the enemy's encampment, and he couldn't not talk to explain.

The man was strange, big, and sword-toting. He was a danger, and he certainly looked as if he had his mind made up about Merlin's fate. His sword was raised for the kill.

Merlin cowered, scooting backward on the grass, whimpering without realizing what he was doing. His insides squirmed, his body shaking. It was almost funny: Merrick letting him live so that Camelot could behead him.

"Jarin," the tallest said, with what could qualify as an exasperated tone, "He's just a slave."

"An enemy is an enemy!" The man- Jarin- spat, looking down on Merlin in disgust without lowering his sword. "He's still aiding Morgana."

Merlin shook his head violently, but they didn't take his vote into consideration, for some reason.

"We'll chain him up with his boss and the rest."

"He's of no use to the King, he doesn't know any valuable information… we might as well kill him here and save the executioner the trouble."

The middle man spoke up for the first time. "Oh, just let him kill him and let's get on with it. We don't have time to sit here and chit-chat!"

"King Arthur," said the tall man, walking inside and heaving Merlin up by the armpit, "is not like his father. He looks down upon unnecessary bloodshed. We'll chain him up with the others."

"How dare you insult King Uther in such manner! Such crime is a punishable offe-"

"Well, you be sure to let King Uther know, then." The tall man cut him off, dragging Merlin's limp form outside.

By the time twilight fell, both his feet and hands had been tightly shackled in line with several other men he knew by sight. Merrick and another man, when they woke, were chained behind him.

Camelot soldiers were busy ransacking the tents, setting up pots, and settling in for the night. Their voices floated to where Merlin sat with the others, away from the warmth and light of the fires, but close enough so they could not sneak off.

"This shit again?" One soldier complained. Merlin watched as he pushed at his food unhappily.

"Eat it," said his companion, "We've got a long journey back to Camelot."

Camelot. It looked like Merlin was headed home.

88

**A pale dawn was creeping through the windows, its golden fingers brushing aside drapes, gliding over sleeping bodies and singing it's birdsong to a rousing castle.**

**Arthur and Merlin needed no such waking, however. Morning was here, but they had not done their fair share of sleeping.**

**They lay together now, hearts and hands entangled, white silk sheets tangled up in tan legs. The new day seemed to see them and sigh wistfully, sending a soft breeze fluttering through their open window.**

**Merlin's hand brushed through the hair on Arthur's broad chest, his lips returning the smile he received, eyes sparkling. He inched closer, pressing his nose into blonde-turned-chestnut hair. Arthur only had to turn his head to press their lips together in a heartbreakingly sweet kiss.**

" **Merlin," Arthur asked several minutes later in a low voice, so as to not break the spell of dawn, "Have you ever thought about… growing a new tongue? Through magic? Surely that's possible, is it not?"**

**Merlin looked thoughtful, pressing a kiss into his temple.** _**Perhaps. I never looked for such a spell. I've never had the need.** _

" **Wouldn't you want to? Surely the most powerful- wizard- on earth-," he nudged Merlin playfully on each word with his elbow, "Could find a way to do it."**

_**I suppose… I don't know. I think it's sort of like you were saying earlier, at my grave. It's a physical scar of all I've been through… it makes everything tangible. It's almost as if if my tongue grows back I'm pretending it never happened.** _

" **And you don't want to do that?"**

" **I couldn't if I tried. It's impossible."**

**Arthur nodded, "I understand." He gave their tangled fingers a squeeze, letting his free hand graze through Merlin's messy dark hair. Merlin leaned in and soon they were kissing again, Merlin scrambling up on Arthur's chest. Humming happily, he nibbled Arthur's top lip in a way that drove him crazy.**

**The room was bathed with golden light before the conversation resumed. Servants would be coming in any moment with breakfast- they'd learned long ago to bring two trays.**

_**Maybe one day I will.** _ **Merlin said.**

**"What?" Arthur asked, panting slightly, one hand gripped tight around Merlin's back. "You'll do what?"**

**Merlin gave a breathy chuckle.** _**Get a new tongue.** _

**Arthur nodded. "Right. And one day-" He eyed Merlin carefully, gauging his reaction, "One day you'll tell me everything that happened to you?" It was a request, a plea, not a command.**

_**Yes.** _ **Merlin said without pause.** _**Yes, one day I will.** _

**But it was the next question that made his eyes well up with tears, contemplating everything his future would hold: good things and bad things… all things he would face with Arthur standing by his side.**

**Right where he was meant to be.**

" **One day," Arthur said, his fingers running over the long scars the covered Merlin's back, "you'll be okay."**

**Merlin smiled, cupping Arthur's glowing face with both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him softly.** _**I think** _ **, he whispered,** _**I already am.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, that's the end. I hope you (at least some what) enjoyed this monster of a piece. Thank you for sticking with me, especially when the updates got slow(er).


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